Echo
by heyheroics
Summary: Lance is stripped of his voice. To make matters worse, he's also stuck with his self-proclaimed rival in dangerous territory and he literally can't say a damn thing about it (Challenge fic. Keith and Lance friendship/bromance)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Ahhh I guess we're doing this!

Please read this, guys! I'm posting this story as a result of a fic exchange with fellow author and friend, IcyPanther. The rules were as follows:

1\. Story must revolve around Lance losing his ability to speak. The HOW is fair game.  
2\. Story must be between 20k to 100k words (a real test for Icy)  
3\. Story is a gen fic (I have nothing against klance but this fic will be pure bromance)  
3\. Story will be posted on Nov. 1 and finished by Jan. 31, 2018 (a real test for heyheroics)  
5\. The following lines **must** be used somewhere within the story:  
Icy to heyheroics: _"We're here to help you"_  
heyheroics to Icy: _"Just let me do this"_

PLEASE keep in mind that _I am unable to commit to a proper posting schedule_ and will be updating this fic as I complete chapters. I'm going to get them out as soon as I can, guys. Thank you for your understanding on this!

In the meantime, do go visit IcyPanther and her fantastic work (her fic for this challenge is _The Purity of Sin_ and you must go check it out!) and leave her a review to show her how much you appreciate all of her hard work!

* * *

xxx

Lance tries to remember how he got here but his brain is fogged up like the bathroom mirror after a long, pampered shower.

Something is relentlessly pounding. Repetitive like a terrified heartbeat. No. No, no, the pounding _is_ a heartbeat, _his,_ demanding attention by sending painful pulses through his skull.

This is now, though. Happening right now. _Think further back_.

Let's see. Pain. Lots of it. He doesn't sense Blue, but someone or something is there. He can feel it. He knows they are angry—angry at him? Did he make someone mad? Lance winces. Wants to apologize. But.

Something clasps around the scruff of his neck and lifts him like he weighs nothing. Shakes him violently and Lance feels his body respond about as well as a ragdoll.

Ah. That's right. Someone is beating the shit out of him. And from the looks of things, he hasn't yet given them what they want.

… _what_ is it they want, again?

"Answer me."

 _But what was the question_ , Lance instinctively wants to ask because he honestly can't remember, and perhaps he should be concerned about that.

When he was younger and his older brother took him for a ride on the back of his motorcycle, the world passed by so fast it was just a blur of beautiful colors, like smeared paint on the canvasses his sister used to create. This is what his memory feels like right now, only the colors are… less stunning. There's a lot of black. A lot of purple.

… _Oh_.

Galra.

The thought makes him attempt a groan, but he only manage a thick, throaty exhale instead because, _oh yeah_ , interesting little tidbit: he can't talk. Not even in a stubborn, defiant "I'll never tell" kind of way, either. Lance literally, physically, _cannot_ speak.

Which is an absolute shame because there is a hot whisper brushing dangerously against his face now, and Lance blanches because there is a reason to feel afraid.

"If I cannot make you talk, I will at least make you _scream_."

And Lance blanches because no, he cannot even give that much.

 **48 hours earlier**

Lance is like a fish in that he will die without water. Space has turned out to be, much to his childhood expectations, _amazing_ , but its inescapable vastness can sometimes leave him feeling dry. He misses rain. The beach. He misses surfing. Finding weird shells on the ocean floor and handing them off to his Mamá to adorn her shelves with. Here in space, the castleship doesn't need water to float or drift along and Lance struggles to find those old comforts.

So when Allura sees their ragged, tired faces and suggests they take a day to relax at the nearest Space Mall, Lance practically buzzes with excitement. There are a number of malls in space, as it turns out, and they are all the same in the sense that they are all uniquely different, but the idea is the same as a mall found back on Earth, and those similarities are, for now, enough for Lance.

Plus, Coran, in all of his mustached glory, has graced him and the other Paladins with a little spending money. Pidge had laughed and called it their allowance. You know, for kicking Galra butt and cleaning up the universe and other such space chores.

Lance pairs himself up with Hunk when everyone splits up. Hunk is an old comfort from _home-_ home, and Lance is grateful to have someone like Hunk with him in this crazy, perilous, wacko space adventure hero thing that they're on. Being with Hunk reminds him of pre-Garrison days, when the weight on their shoulders was feather-light and Lance's endgame was to be a fighter class pilot, better than a certain mullet, with Hunk as his trusted engineer. When hanging out wasn't burdened with the backburner thought that it might be the last time because, space, as it turns outs, is actually a pretty dangerous place.

Simpler times. Those days feel so long ago now. Time is a little wonky out here in space, days and weeks stretch a little differently to where Lance actually has no idea how long it's been since it all started, but Lance feels _older_.

"I love space malls," Hunk gushes shamelessly. "They're just so, like, _out there_ , you know? No pun intended, heh. All this weird alien technology you'd never find back on Earth. I mean _look at this_ ; they have advanced rebreathers here, on _clearance_! Lance, can you imagine being able to breathe freely underwater without your helmet? I mean, I guess if you asked nicely Pidge could come up with something, and I guess thanks to the mermaids we _did_ , but I'm talking about any body of water, on any planet. Just sitting here on the shelf, ready to buy. You could— Lance?"

Lance is only vaguely aware that Hunk has stopped talking because he's so focused on the little shop ahead with a crudely made cardboard sign that reads ' _eArtHLy fiNdS'_. The irony is not lost on him; in fact, it is so strong Lance has no quiznacking choice but to check it out.

"Hunk. Buddy. Over there." And he points to the shop but is already pulling Hunk along because he knows Hunk will follow him just about anywhere.

"Holy crow," Hunk chirps and speeds up to the point he is dragging Lance instead. The store owner, observant of their oh-so-subtle eagerness, steps out to greet them.

"Welcome, welcome! You'll never find a better collection of abandoned and unwanted junk from the planet Earth for a cheaper price! I'm practically giving this stuff away!"

"Lance, _look_ at this stuff! Are— are those _walkie-talkies?_ They even come with batteries, I can't even remember the last time we needed batteries for anything up here, holy— whoa, is that a tiki!?" Hunk gravitates towards a small figurine and turns it over in his hands. It reminds him of one he used to have back in his room at the Garrison that his mother let him take from the house. This tiki looks more cheaply made with its chipped paint and missing tooth, but it reminds him of a place he loves.

He turns to show Lance, only to find that his partner-in-crime has vanished. The shop owner stands there instead, hovering like an opportunistic shadow. "I believe your friend has made his way over to the noise-makers," he supplies, frowning when Hunk gently sets the tiki back down where he found it. "In the meantime, I see you've found yourself a statue of a most feared Earth God. I can give you a great deal for it!" To which Hunk provides a kind wave—he wants to think it over after he finds Lance.

'Noise-makers', as it turns out, are musical instruments. Lance has found his way there, sitting cross-legged on the floor with an acoustic guitar held almost lovingly in his hands. Hunk can see the softness of Lance's face, the tenderness of his one-sided smile. The one he makes when memories are swallowing him, hook, line and sinker.

Back home, Lance had a huge family and support group of people who loved him. They were always loud, always moving, always full of stories, affection, good food and music. Lance would strum the guitar, nothing crazy advanced, but it was often enough to encourage his family to come together and sing songs in beautiful Spanish tongue.

Now, Hunk watches Lance sit alone and pick at the strings one at a time, tuning it as though it is already his.

xxx

It isn't even a full quintaint later that Allura is calling Lance and the others to the observation deck. Lance sets the guitar down next to his bed; he barely had enough time to strum all of the dust off of her strings before duty calls. All part of being a handsome, daring space hero. The universe needs him.

Need. Importance. Usefulness. Adored. Lance likes these words. Likes feeling them.

Allura needs _all_ of them, though. They all need each other. Lance likes that feeling, too.

Everyone gathers together in practiced, record time. No one looks ready to be back on the clock as Allura does a bunch of hand gestures to pull up the star map.

The star map is one of Lance's favorite things on the ship. There have been many sleepless nights he's come here to activate it himself (as shown how by Hunk) to navigate the universe at his own leisure (as taught by Pidge), and sometimes even Coran will join him because the man has so many stories and a limited amount of people to tell them to.

Little by little Lance basks in the glow of synthetic planets and stars and explores the universe. And sometimes, after Coran initially helped him find her location, Lance pulls up Earth, the old girl. And stares.

Allura has a nearby part of the universe pulled up now as she zooms in on a small planet that looks like a maze of holes and tunnels as though it has been infested with termites.

"I understand that our time for leisure has been brief, but we cannot pass up the opportunity to procure an alliance with the planet Decibon." She zooms in even further. The haphazard termite-looking trails that Lance sees seem more mapped out and deliberate now. Organized chaos like an ant farm. "I am aware this is short notice, but we cannot pass up this opportunity."

Shiro's eyes slit the way they do when he's trying to pinpoint intent. "You seem pretty keen on doing this right away."

"It's called being opportunistic!" Coran tugs at his mustache fondly. "The Decibonians are a very cautious sort! They move their planet across the galaxy regularly to make themselves difficult to locate."

"Cool!" Pidge lights up, eyes sparkling brighter than anything on the star map. "They have a way to mobilize an entire _planet?_ "

Like an electric current, the excitement transfers over to Hunk, who taps his chin at the possibilities. "Sounds like they have access to some pretty advanced technology. And it has to be a pretty adaptable atmosphere if it can freely roam the galaxy without worrying about temperature or gravity, days and nights, stuff like that."

"Okay, so we'll just pop in with a list of reasons to join team Good Guys and _boom_ , another one in the bag," Lance smirks, even as Keith rolls his eyes next to him.

"I am afraid it won't be that easy," Allura explains apologetically. "The Decibonians have a strict loyalty to peacefulness, to the point they have all taken a vow of silence. I must ask that you all be on your best behavior and this is a very serious commitment for them. Do not engage in any unnecessary conversation that would encourage a Decibonian to respond and break their code of silence. It would be considered devastatingly rude."

Out of everyone, Keith chuckles. _Keith_. Arms crossed, right side of his mouth upturned in a slight smirk, he says, "So, what you're saying is that we are headed to a planet where it would be well advised that Lance keep his mouth shut? Sounds like my kind of place."

And obviously, comments like _that_ cannot go unopposed.

"If you like it so much, we can leave you there, _Keith_."

"Are you trying to sweeten the deal?"

"We'd be better off with _you_ keeping your mouth shut because social norms go right over your head," Lance retorts, half serious. "Watch; I'll be the one to show them all the wonders of using your voice and they'll change their entire culture and be all ' _why didn't we do this sooner?'_ and it'll be because of _me_." Lance understands that he is talking too long and too much and too fast but something about Keith makes him unable to _stop_ until his frustration is quelled. "I'm a smoother-talker by nature, mullet. So smooth they say I'm _velvet_."

Then, with sincere confusion, Keith tilts his head. "Who the heck are _they_?"

And that… well… Whatever. Lance marks it down as a win and lets the interaction die.

Admittedly, he doesn't like the idea of walking into a new environment without being able to converse. Diplomacy and rapport-building comes from finding common ground, but Allura has already deactivated the charm bomb and Lance doesn't know how he is supposed to dazzle _any_ one without that sweet meal-ticket of a voice.

"So, we _can_ speak. We just can't prompt anyone to speak back," Pidge reiterates in an attempt to understand.

"Correct," Allura nods. "But unlike the past, there are translators to bridge the communication gap without risk to their sanctity of silence."

Lance wants to ask about the consequences of accidentally making one of the Decibonian's breach said sanctity, but he holds his tongue—call it practice for the real thing. He scoffs inwardly. _Sanctity_ , huh? Lance _knows_ sanctity and it does not come from silencing your thoughts. It is blue, silken robes and comfortable fuzzy slippers in an empty room that is far, far away from home. It is being able to still feel awed while stargazing even after seeing stars becomes commonplace. It is a giant, metallic beast that deeply understands him in a way another human being cannot.

xxx

After the castleship touches down, Lance traps his tongue between his teeth with every intention of letting Allura do most of the talking. Or non-talking. Or whatever it is. She strides forward with such grace she may as well be floating. Her impressive display of leadership is so fierce that Lance sometimes forgets that the role terrifies her daily. So many times this woman has leveled her gaze into that of mortal danger, or has put her life on the line for the sake of the greater good, even come to terms with her own wrongness and open her heart to change. For this, Lance believes that Allura is the most incredible lady in, quite literally, the entire universe.

And if Allura wants to bring the Decibonian's to their side and if Lance has to stifle himself for a few hours to help make that happen, so be it. He will just keep his head down and try not to be so friendly as to say something as stupid as _hello_.

Because while Lance is technically still allowed to speak, he doesn't trust himself not to cross that line between talking at someone and talking _with_ someone. Conversation is the basis of human (alien?) interaction, after all. How people find common ground and connect with one another. And for Lance, it is much more than a way of finding his way to other people. It's a defense and a comfort. His sense of self in an unpredictable world and his link to levity in the middle of a war.

Lance _is_ capable of keeping his mouth shut. This isn't the first time he's been instructed to do so, either. But sometimes it's really, really hard.

There's a girl that breaks through the crowd in blue and white robes. She looks regal and important and young and _way_ too pretty to be single. Lance wants to know her name. He wants her to know his. But somehow Lance doesn't think a flashy smile and a well-aimed pair of finger guns in her direction screams _diplomatic gentleman._

A rather stout looking figure follows along beside her, walking almost in sync.

The girl bows kindly with Allura, then holds eye contact with her while swirling her hands in the air in a rather hypnotizing fashion. The figure next to her, whom Lance assumes to be her translator, steps forward to, uh, translate.

"Hello, friends. This is our humble planet Decibon. Princess Unma welcomes you. I am her trusted advisor, Draxis, and will be serving as your translator for the duration of your visit."

"Thank you," Allura bows once more to be polite. "Apologies for the unannounced intrusion. I am Princess Allura. I come to you with the Paladins of Voltron to discuss a union."

Unma's eyes widen ever so slightly. She reaches to her advisor Draxis' arm again and holds it. A beat passes before Draxis speaks again. "Princess Unma has heard of Voltron's legacy and would be honored to move forward with this discussion. But first, as guests, let us welcome you with a brief tour of our empire."

Up close, the layout of the city is even more fascinating than the small scale version on Allura's star map, with impossible-looking rock formations and gaping tunnels big enough to fit even the Black Lion. The ground is dusty but stains things easily, like his fingers when he curiously reaches out to touch the mouth of a particularly large tunnel. Lance mentally compares its massive size and color of the capital city to the Grand Canyon, but with way cooler walkways. There is a garden on the outskirts, lush and green and blindingly contrasting to the rest of the otherwise plant-less environment. That too, is constructed in maze-like patterns.

It's all simply amazing, and it figures the one thing he isn't allowed to do here is engage civilians in conversation that prompts them to speak because he just has _so many questions_.

Like how long it took to carve out all of the tunnels and if anyone has ever gotten lost in them. He wonders how they do simple things like getting the attention of someone across the room, tell secrets or say _I love you_ in a way that shows they really mean it. The people themselves appear to be very welcoming, humanoid creatures with Hunk-like smiles and tiny, Pidge-esque noses. They remind him of Shiro and Keith the way they can look at each other and share an entire, unsaid conversation. A relationship that can survive on trust and touch alone in a way that makes Lance stew in an unwelcomed, uncomfortable air of jealousy.

Without realizing it, Lance rubs at his throat. His Mamá always encouraged him to speak up, to speak his mind and never be afraid to be noticed. She herself was a very openly opinionated woman; this place would drive her _muy loco_.

The tour carries on for a while, through a palace that rivals even the Castle of Lions in size but with far less blatant tech, to the local market with foods and crafts created from the land and hard labor. Homes are nestled into the nooks and burrowed-out rock of the land. Lance sees that the garden, now that he gets the chance to walk through it in person, is more like a massive dome that keeps the place nice and cool.

Then, much to Pidge and Hunk's glee, Princess Unma wishes to bestow her trust upon Voltron by showing them the science behind their mobile planet.

"Princess, I encourage you to rethink your decision to show these strangers something so vital to our culture. The legend of Voltron is a wondrous one, but legends do not always live up to their tale. Do not show too much haste in exposing our secrets."

But Unma smiles that soft smile that Lance tags as swoonable, and places a tiny, tender hand to Draxis' cheek as if to console his concerns. Draxis eventually sighs, his shoulders slumping momentarily before regaining his upright posture. "Very well, princess."

While the science mumbo jumbo never quite finds a corner of his brain to nest in, the marvels of it and its capabilities are not lost on Lance. He honestly wants to see the magic behind Decibon's mobilization.

Lance doesn't read too many books other than the ones he studied over and over again at the Garrison. Nothing fictional other than the occasional comic book, or the movies and shows he used to watch. But the pathway to what is supposedly the place where all the magic happens on the planet Decibon feels like something straight out of a fairytale. Unma and Draxis navigate themselves seamlessly through the tunnels that fascinate Lance so much, until they reach a long descending stairway hand crafted from rocks and clay that feeds them into the belly of the planet itself, to its center. The wings of butterflies in his stomach begin to stir with the growing sense of adventure, but Lance keeps it stifled.

It's a long way down, but the planet's innards have been carved and hollowed out to make room for life and magic. Unma takes the lead when the stairway opens up to face a massive, decorative barrier. It stands out among the red-orange walls with its elegant designs, proudly boasting that it holds something amazing.

"I take it it's in there," Lance says idly, mostly to himself. He receives a harsh nudge from Keith's elbow anyway, to which Lance nudges him back, hard enough to knock him off balance. "It wasn't a question, I'm just saying it's not subtle."

"Lance," Shiro chastises gently.

Unma delivers a soft smile, once more moving her hands around in front of her in some muted declaration. Draxis turns to them after a moment, eyes settling eventually on Lance. "Indeed you are correct; a source of invaluable power is beyond this door. As you are about to see, it does require the touch of two people to gain entrance."

A waist-high pillar stands on either side of the entrance, to which Draxis and Unma place themselves accordingly. Both place a hand to the surface of their respective pillars and hold. A good number of ticks pass before Lance hears the soft hum. There is a vibration in the air, a warm static.

The pillars begin to glow orange like a Cuban sunrise, illuminating their hands before setting the whole pillar alight. Bright lines shoot downwards towards the ground and out the base, across the floor and to the wall, where the lines hastily outline the brilliant designs and shapes and carving out a central line that cuts the wall in half, turning it instead into a set of large double doors.

"This is amazing!" Pidge is blushing with adoration, hugging her arms into herself and trying not to combust.

"Magic protecting magic," Hunk contributes, eyes lighting up.

The doors stay illuminous, waiting to be approached. Unma centers herself in front of the door now, and reaches for it. The instant her fingertips brush the surface, the doors begin to split apart.

It's surprisingly dark on the other side and looks like the inner workings of a cave. There is a long stretch of stone serving as a walkway leading to another pedestal. This one is larger and harboring what looks like a pile of green rocks. Unma stops just before it, Draxis at her side, as she gestures towards the strange stones.

"Plexia Crystals are the life blood of our planet. These crystals possess an energy so potent that it can move unimaginable masses. Our people have discovered a way to harness that energy as a power source to essentially turn our entire planet into a mechanical being."

Draxis thrusts his hands into the air so fast that the movement is startling, and the next thing Lance knows, he and everyone else is shrouded in complete and utter darkness. He feels Pidge take a step closer to him and instinct makes him put an arm around her shoulder protectively.

Then the room bursts with dots of light, too many to count, twinkling and glowing much like…

"Is this…" Allura is breathless as she admires the spectacle before her.

Lance feels himself grinning. "It's a star map."

And in the darkness of the cave, those stars and planets glow with gusto so demanding that Lance feels like he is seeing the universe for the very first time.

Draxis slowly brushes his hand through the air, moving the galaxy around them. "Thanks to the crystals, we can relocate our planet wherever we see fit. It is how we keep our people safe."

Unma approaches the green coated crystals, taking one in her hand. At the contact, the small object begins to throb with a faint light. Breathing. Alive.

Allura gasps when Unma takes her hand and guides it to the crystal. Lance doesn't blame her; the way it throbs green makes him think of radiation.

"Touching them will not harm you," Draxis tells her when Allura finally comes into contact with it, with a slight worry to his voice. "But you must exercise caution when handling them. You see, under too much stress, the crystals can combust."

Allura retracts her hand immediately while Shiro and Keith both make to step closer to her. They're brave like that, Shiro and Keith, hearing something might explode and then going _towards_ it.

Lance leans closer to get a better look at these dangerous little balls of light and power. They're small in size; even Pidge could hold about three or four in one of her tiny hands if she tried. These things are dormant little bombs?

"Are you sure it's safe to have something so… explode-y juicing up your planet?"

Keith smacks him on the shoulder blade this time, so hard it sends Lance forward a couple steps. "What? I was asking Draxis! That's _allowed_." Actually it was just a generic question. Thinking out loud. But no one needs to know that.

Draxis spares a glance to Unma, then to Lance, his face stern. "Yes, all questions should be addressed to me or another one of our translators. We no longer adhere to the Old Law stating that one should be severely punished if responsible such a breach, but I still believe there is merit to Decibonian ancestors' methods."

It is not necessarily an open accusation, but Lance swallows thickly, eyes seeking out Allura to see how deep the disappointment runs. She's gotten better at veiling such feelings in front of others, but Lance can _feel_ it. They can't afford thoughtless mistakes like that, even innocent ones. Allura needs the aid of every living creature and slab of inhabited planet she can find in this war, and Lance will be damned if he ends up being the reason they miss one.

But holy quiznack. Only a couple of varga on this planet and Lance is already off to a _riveting_ start.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Some things to go over before we start this chapter!

This is a shorter chapter and hopefully it doesn't seem too rushed. I am trying to get us to the good stuff so just keep hanging on!

I also wanted to remind you guys that this IS a gen fic with no pairings. I am mentioning this because in spite of events of this chapter, I don't want people to think/fear that I'll end up pairing Lance x OC. I promise that I will never do such a thing! You are safe here :)

That being said, enjoy chapter two! And if you have a moment, make sure to check out **IcyPanther** 's contribution to this challenge, called _The Purity of Sin_ and be sure to drop her a comment!

Thank you~

* * *

XXX

Unma and her people somehow manage to pull together to arrange a feast for them as guests on their planet and as Paladins of Voltron, a feat that Lance can hardly fathom because how exactly does an entire town rally together for a celebration without the aid of good old fashion word of mouth? Yet the Decibonians come together, garnish their community in glittery, shiny things and start prepping for a meal that smells absolutely mouth-watering.

Before being allowed to indulge in festivities, however, Allura insists that they dress for the occasion. This results in everyone filing back into the castleship to play dress-up with whatever Altean clothes Coran and Allura can find floating about. Normally their paladin armor suffices on these diplomatic meetings (and seeing as Voltron and the lions and their paladins are a main topic of conversation, it seems fitting to have the associated attire on, for show), but perhaps in the future they should look into obtaining some fancy looking space clothes for situations like these?

Thing is, Lance adores looking sharp as hell. His Mamá used to smooth his bangs back and tell him what a handsome boy he was; Lance honestly feels like she was really onto something there, and there is no shame in owning it.

He debates slicking his hair back for a sleeker, James Bond look, with the goo-based gel he created a while back, but instead decides to keep his hair soft and touchable. As a plus, ladies love a head of hair they can tangle their fingers into.

And after a prolonged look in the mirror it is confirmed that yes, Coran's old Altean garments leave him looking rather dashing. A little big initially, but Coran cinches it at the waist and fancies up the lapel with polished buttons and matching cufflinks. The result, Lance feels, is stunning. Mamá would be _proud_.

That pride keeps his posture tall as he makes his way to the next room where he finds a very disgruntled Pidge in a full-length dress that looks like it must have belonged to a younger Allura. It is white and pink and blue, donned with ornamental lace and sleeves that stretch out to her elbows modestly. The only thing really clashing the outfit is the deep-set frown on Pidge's face. She holds out her arms as Allura sits behind her to tie the sashes together in a unified bow. Lance knows from late night conversations that Pidge doesn't necessarily hate dresses; she owned a few before the Garrison, but they were simple, with single, solid colors. Nothing like this.

Still though.

It's abso-quiznacking-lutely _precious_.

"Aww, Pidgeon."

"Don't call me that," she deadpans as Allura gives a final tug to the bow and stands. She herself is adorned in a long flowy gown with all of her usual colors, her long hair braided and tossed over her left shoulder. Lovely as always.

"Alright, alright," Lance says, holding up his hands defensively, even as Pidge's glare deepens. "I'll stop using it but one day you're going to miss that nickname."

"Today is not that day, Lance."

"I just want it on record that I think you look adorable."

"Noted," Pidge grumbles, turning to Allura. "How long do these things usually run?"

"I don't know," Allura says. She fiddles with the folds of her braid, looking thoughtful. "But everything seems to be going well. Hopefully by the end of the night we will have gained another alliance for the cause."

Lance nudges Pidge on the shoulder "You just want to know how long you have to wear that thing."

"Well _yeah_. I just want this to go quickly."

Honestly, even looking suave as hell, Lance couldn't agree more.

XXX

"Gross," Lance whispers to himself, quietly so no one can hear. He decides that it might be best to just keep his lips sealed at all times, for the sake of… everything, really. But it appears that even out of hearing range of others he can't help but comment about things. He stares down at the green liquid in his cup, transparent like green tea—an offering from one of the busy bees hustling around the castle to prepare the celebration. Kafra, it's called, and against his better judgement, he gives it a second sip, only to come back with the same twisted expression. Softly, secretively, he confirms, "…still gross."

Of course, on a planet that doesn't have a set day and night, Lance doesn't know if it will be considered dinner or a brunch or _whatever_ , but holy crow is he hungry. The kafra really isn't hitting the spot.

Everyone seems so uptight right now, too. Strained expressions and tense movements. If they were allowed to whisper, Lance is sure there'd be plenty of that.

A flash of white catches his attention; Allura's bountiful, braided hair bouncing on her shoulder as she briskly makes her way over to him, Draxis hot on her heels. He looks even less pleased than Allura.

"Lance." Allura's voice is clipped, but Lance can hear the anxiety in her voice that her face refuses to reveal. "Have you seen princess Unma?"

"She is missing," Draxis cuts in coldly.

Tiny alarm bells go off in the back of his head. No wonder the Decibonians have been silently panicking. "No... But, I don't think she'd go far. I mean, technically, this is her party?"

It's a wary attempt at easing Allura's distress. They can't afford to lose the alliance of the Decibonians and losing their ruler at their own celebration is a very bad way to start.

Allura purses her lips. "The others are already searching. Lance, could you—"

"I'm on it," Lance nods, gratefully discarding the kafra on the nearby tabletop. With a new sense of purpose, a wave of determination washes over him; he'll be the one to find Unma, redeem himself for his earlier transgressions, and then maybe, _just maybe_ , Draxis—and Allura—will finally stop making those disappointed faces at him.

XXX

Problem: Lance doesn't know where to look.

He hasn't a single freaking clue.

He's lost, for one. But even if he knew his way around, Lance still doesn't know where a princess might run off to in a place like this, if she ran off at all. Personally he would want to make his way down the rocky catacombs beneath the city and bask in the gentle glow of their underground star map, but Lance doesn't know the way and he won't be able to find the princess first if he gets himself lost.

There isn't much he knows about Unma either other than she is pretty quiet, pretty kind and pretty _pretty_. Pretty like a flower.

Lance runs a hand through his un-gelled, touchable hair and breathes deeply. _Girls like flowers_ , his mind supplies lamely. Which maybe isn't so lame of a thought because Lance finds himself moving towards to gardens just outside the city. It's easy enough to find since it's massive size can be seen even from the city's center, and it's not the worst place to look on this search and rescue or whatever this is, but he _is_ surprised to see that the gardens are fairly secluded and lonely and most of the flowers are sweet but sad looking, like the plants themselves crave to be spoken to.

The odds of Lance finding Unma before anyone else is unlikely, he knows. But he wants it anyway. To be the one to find her and return her safe and sound to the people who adore her—how great would that make him look? Maybe he'd receive a peck on the cheek from the princess himself, and they'd be so grateful for his deeds that they'll even let him give a modest speech—

A rustling in the nearby bushes startles him. He jumps, unable to control the high pitched squeak that escapes his lips, but he is quick to clear his throat and follow up with a deep and manly, "Who's there? Show yourself."

He summons his bayard, forming a rifle and bringing the crosshairs to eyelevel. He directs it to the sound, his heart racing but he keeps his breathing steady, just like always, as his mind races through the possibilities. Could be something as simple as a squirrel or whatever creatures exist around here. It could very well be someone else out here looking for the princess, beating Lance to the punch on looking in the gardens. _Or_ —Lance strokes the trigger with his finger—maybe there really is cause for concern and Unma has been taken hostage and _this_ is her captor.

"Come out," he orders again, more gusto in his voice now that believes there could be a very real threat.

A voice responds to him, softer than he is expecting. "I did not mean to startle you."

The leaves shudder and a small figure emerges from the greenery. And. _Um_.

"Oh _crap_!"

Lance's eyes spring wide when he realizes he's _pointing his gun at the princess of a planet they're trying to form a union with holy crap holy crap holy—_ the blaster dissipates instantly and Lance throws his hands up over his face to make an assortment of unintelligible noises into them, then freezes. Because, well. "Y-you… _spoke_. To me. Just now. You. To me. You just spoke to me."

Articulate as ever.

"Lance," Unma says quietly, _talking even more_ , her arms outstretched towards him, causing Lance's brain to short-circuit. Unma not only remembers his name, but she says it beautifully. "Please. Please do not be alarmed. And please do not tell Draxis." Lance's mouth hangs open to speak but nothing comes out. Unma takes his right hand in both of her tiny ones. "Blue Paladin of Voltron, may I confide something in you?"

A lump in his throat threatens to choke him. What are the consequences exactly, of making the princess of Decibon speak? You know, the _very thing_ he's been advised against doing from the get-go? Is this a trick? But Unma is speaking of her own free will—isn't that against the rules, though? Draxis made it clear earlier that things like this are frowned upon. _Punishable_. They can't punish the princess, though. Right? Lance imagines not, but they can still punish _him_ for encouraging it.

But Unma is a lady in need who is coming to him of all people to reveal her secrets to, and Lance wouldn't be his mother's son if he turned his back to her. So despite the potential risks and the rules drilled into him by Draxis and Allura and just about everyone else, Lance whispers a raspy, heartfelt "Yes."

Unma squeezes his hand gently in a way that makes Lance feel _trusted_.

"Our people must embrace a change. The feelings of our hearts must be expressed with our voices, and not by the voices of others. These were the sentiments of my mother for as long as I can remember," Unma confesses. Lance listens with an intensity so fierce it is almost physically painful. The princess is _talking_ to him. About her mother _talking_ to her. About wanting their people to _talk_. "My mother… her dying words imparted this request onto me."

The weight of it all pushes against Lance's chest and he lets out a mouthful of air slowly, puffing out his cheeks. He keeps his voice soft and speaks carefully. "This is… a lot to take in, princess." He gently slides a thumb over Unma's small knuckles, a gesture that his older sister would do for him when he was being young and selfish and she wanted to console him. This planet does not belong to him in any sense; it is not his place to sway Unma's choices in what happens to it. To tell her right from wrong. But Lance can see that she is looking for guidance, a feeling he's had many times in the past, and the urge to help her is impulsive. "Have you mentioned this to anyone? To Draxis?"

She shakes her head, golden freckles catching the light. "I've confided in no one. I need my people to trust me. What if this change breaks that trust?"

Lance wants so badly to tell her that the shock of hearing her speak is not alarming or offensive in the least. It's _incredible_. And her people are insane if they were to think anything else. He also tries not to openly gush at being invited into Unma's secret little world, one that even her most trusted advisor and translator does not even seem to know about.

In her eyes, Lance can see how badly Unma longs to have her parents at her side. How much she misses them. The doubt and fear she is suffering at the unknown, at the possibility of letting everyone down… those are also things Lance knows intimately and his heart aches for her. It would seem that he and Unma, at their core, actually have a lot in common.

And at the end of the day, Lance is a gentleman with a bleeding heart who wants nothing more than to alleviate the things that ails other people. He is the leg of Voltron, a symbol of support and protector of the people.

"Princess, I'm sure your mother told you what she did because she believed in your ability to succeed. Look, I… I know it can be scary to be responsible for other people, but if you're going to be a good leader, you owe it to them and to yourself to be honest." He watches her expression to gauge her reaction, but she still looks unsure. If anything, her eyes look a little glossy, and Lance will be damned if he's going to be the reason a lady cries. "…but you already know this. Listen, deep down, you know what you need to do. What you want to do. And it _will_ happen, Unma. But it doesn't have to be right away. Just, whenever you're ready."

The look on Unma's face reminds Lance of one of the many reasons he joined the Garrison. To help people.

"Lance, Blue Paladin of Voltron, I thank you. I take your kind words to heart, but please, do keep this between us for now."

Lance's chest quakes with the intensity of Unma's trust. He has no intention of breaking it. "Your secret is safe with me."

A beat passes. Lance opens his mouth to invite her to go back to the city with him, because everyone is worried about her (and Lance is still really hungry and surely dinner-or-what-have-you is almost ready by now), but the ground rumbles beneath his feet and a sudden, ear-piercing siren blares through the skies.

Lance whirls around to see lights flashing in the distance. "What's going on!?"

"It's the alarm," Unma explains, her voice cracking with worry. She is already running back towards the city. "We're under attack!"

And Lance, accustomed to dashing off towards the sounds of chaos with little to no knowledge of the dangers awaiting him, follows.


	3. Chapter 3

XXX

Lance's beginnings are humble. A boy from Cuba who grew up under the glow of the sun and groomed by the water, with an alarming number of aspirations, an unquenchable thirst for adventure and a potent captivation with a deep, dark unknown entity called space. Cuba's skies at night were always a wondrous sight and no two were ever the same, and as a child Lance's imagination ran wild. _Anything_ could be out there.

To get closer to it, Lance transitioned into the Garrison as an eager student, where, oddly enough, the stars only seemed more and more out of reach. Then he discovered a magical blue lion and found himself so deep in the troughs of the universe and all of its wonders that it makes him dizzy to this day. The adventure he's always pined for crashes into him tenfold and sometimes Lance has to remind himself, _he wanted this_.

And if there is anything Lance has learned during this transition from little-boy-dreamer to defender of the universe, it is that a good day can easily turn into a shit storm in less than a tick. Less than that, even. Like less than a _second_.

Lance stays close to Unma as they run towards the disarray in the distance. Only when they come close enough to put the castleship into view does he reach out to grab her wrist, slowing them both to a stop.

"Wait, wait," Lance calls. "We don't know what's going on and I don't know where the others are. I'd like to get my armor and I think you should come with me."

Unma is agreeable and they make quick of the pit-stop. Lance makes fast work of grabbing his helmet and armor, donning it over his formal attire to save time. Lance is already calling out to the others before the helmet is even fully secure. "Guys? Guys, are you there?"

"Lance! What's your location?" Pidge asks quickly as Hunk releases a heavy 'phew' in the background.

"I found the princess. We're on our way back to the city now but it looks like a madhouse. What's going on?"

"You found her?" Keith sounds genuinely surprised, which fills Lance with a short-lived feeling of accomplishment.

"Lance," Shiro's voice comes in with that strong tone of command that helps Lance focus. "Stay with the princess. Keep her and her people safe until we can come up with a plan."

Leave it to Shiro to make it sound so simple. But even as Lance thinks this, Unma's hand is entwined in his own, calling forth a sense of duty that doesn't even require Shiro's orders or Keith's prattling to summon. His bayard materializes in his free hand. "You can count on me," he says, with as much sincerity as he honestly feels.

He sees the ship, massive in size, big enough to hold its own mini civilization, stationed just in front of Unma's elegant castle, the mouth of its main doors propped open. In front of it…

"Oh crap," Lance breathes. Unma's people are herded into rows, standing at attention and looking terrified as a handful of large figures pace the lines. Lance doesn't miss the purple color to their skin—err, fur. He tastes the word, finding it just as bitter as he expects. "Galra."

Unma fixates him with a look of horror and confusion, to which Lance summarizes for her. "Bad news."

He can feel her pull back a little, and Lance imagines that a princess who is afraid to lead her people to her full ability _might_ find a situation like this more than intimidating. He debates tucking her away into hiding while he continues on, to keep her safe, maybe inside one of the lions, but Shiro told him to keep her close _and_ safe, and Lance wonders if Unma's people would think less of her for not being there for them, anyway.

The crowd is so huge that the two of them are able to slip in and become part of it, unnoticed. Lance weaves through it to place himself on the front lines, knowing he will stand out with his white and blue armor. He has no plan, but he certainly can't make much of a difference hiding amongst innocents. It seems like the right move, until he reaches the front and sees Draxis a little ways down the line, who meets his gaze with one of rage when he realizes the princess is at his side. And Draxis is not the only one to notice the Princess has arrived.

"Look who decided to show up," the biggest Galran (of _course_ ) says, powerful form striding over and reaching out to lift Unma's chin, fingers are so large that they nearly envelope her entire face. "Perfect. We can finally begin the negotiations. Your city has been quite uncooperative. Even your precious translators have proven rather… unresponsive. Perhaps you can do the right thing and take the fall for your people."

She tears her head free of the grasp, staring defiantly. Appearing braver than she feels, reminding Lance of Allura.

Her silence is not the response the Galran is looking for, so his voice darkens. "We're not going anywhere until we come to an agreement, so you're gonna have to open that pretty mouth of yours."

But Unma continues to defy. Lance is proud but can feel his body aching to make a move. He doesn't like to assume that princesses necessarily _need_ to be saved, but it never stops him from _wanting_ to.

A tinny voice sounds at his ear. _"I need a little more time."_ Pidge. Lance doesn't know exactly what the others are doing or why Pidge needs more time, but she wouldn't ask for it if she didn't need it, and Lance is nothing if not a giver.

Then Shiro, _"Lance, the Galra are going to try and get the Decibonians to talk. We can't let that happen."_

"Tough crowd," the Galran muses, a dark chuckle escaping his thin lips. His large size reminds Lance of the skyscrapers he's seen in the bustling cities in movies, so Lance decides to call him Tower.

A few of Tower's friends come around to form a threesome that corner the princess. No one in the crowd makes a move to stop it and something under Lance's skin crawls. "No matter. One of you are going to tell me where you are hiding your Plexia Crystals and how to use them, or your vows of silence will be broken by the sound of your own screams."

Lance notices next to him that Princess Unma is biting her lip the way folks do when they are debating being an idiot for a good cause. It's a face he knows well. And just as she seems to lose the battle in her mind, Tower starts side-glancing the crowd for any stupid, brave souls.

Ironically enough, Lance is stupid _and_ brave _and_ has a soul.

And thanks to the voice of Pidge sounding off in his ear, Lance is reminded that, sometimes, the glove just _fits_.

 _"Still ne_ _ed more time. Lance, I need you to distract them now."_

More time. Distraction. Consider it done.

But options are limited. Close quarters combat? Forget it. Even if he could, there are too many people around who would be at risk. But he also can't very well let Unma be messed with by these assholes. Plus Pidge asked for a distraction and what kind of space-brother would he be if he didn't deliver to his little space-sister?

Not surprisingly, while Lance has been futzing around in his head, Tower has approached the princess, leaning down to be eyelevel with her. "As the leader of your people, one would expect you step up. Are you really willing to bite your tongue and sentence your people to torture?"

Still quiet, Unma begins to tremble. Lance decides that if there were ever a time to dive head-first into potential self-harm, it should be to save a scared, beautiful princess who is out of her depth and misses her parents, afraid to rule an entire city of people but _trying_.

He steps forward.

"Uh, pardon me, _señor furball_?"

The onslaught of nerves he feels run through his body is absolutely chilling. The mammoth size of all three Galrans turn to him with wild eyes, like mountains in motion. And really, Lance should know better. Handsome and valiant princes don't go poking sleeping dragons with a stick, but then again, maybe he'd be better off with a dragon.

Tower approaches, his massive size easily dwarfing Lance, even as he puffs out his chest and rises to his toes. He can hear his own breathing hitch in the privacy of his enclosed helmet, but even with a stellar poker face, Lance doesn't think the Galran is fooled. Lance knows he doesn't have to engage, not really. He just needs to be the center of attention. Be a distraction.

Easy peasy.

"What are you trying to do, human?"

"I actually… honestly, I don't know," Lance answers hesitantly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the record-breaking time it has taken for his gusto to crack. He sucks in a breath though and tries again. Unma and her people, Shiro and his team, they're all counting on him.

No pressure, you know?

"Then don't waste my time," the bulking Galran snarls, returning his attention to Unma and reaching for her.

"Well hold on, now," Lance intercepts. "Out of everyone here, I'm the only one willingly talking with you, in case you haven't noticed. You want the Plexia Crystals? _I_ know where those are. I've _seen_ them."

And _that_. Well. _That_ garners attention.

It is also, some would say, how you sign your own name on your death certificate.

Three pairs of narrowed, yellow eyes size him up. The shorter of the three (and admittedly, it is still taller than Lance by at least a foot) hums thoughtfully. "…I know who you are. You are a Paladin of Voltron. What kind of trick are you trying to pull?"

"No trick. Simply put, I know what you want to know, and let's be honest here; I'm kind've your best shot."

An oversized hand lashes out and clutches his helmet and Lance barely has time to even gasp before the world explodes white, having been flung to the ground so quickly and so violently that he blacks out for a moment. When he comes to, hes on the ground with the splittiest of splitting headaches and waves of nausea lapping at the base of his belly. That's a concussion, maybe.

His helmet is busted. Completely cracked into two whole pieces and out of reach. So communications are gone, too. Cool.

Three dark voices linger overhead, chuckling at his pain. And Lance craves a moment long enough to collect himself and maybe even retaliate, but something latches onto the breastplate of his armor and lifts him. He dangles, fingers weakly trying to claw the hand away but the strength just isn't there.

Some hero. Down and out in less than two ticks.

But the distraction bit? That's still happening, technically.

"Do not disappoint me, then. If you do, I'll find someone else."

"Whoa, whoa… I said I was your best chance," Lance says, slurring way more than he means to. "I never said I was actually going to give anything away. A little mystery is good, don't'cha think?"

And then Lance is on the ground again, world spinning. His vision is a little wonky, but he sees red. Smells it too. Tastes it in his mouth, even.

Oh. Blood is fun, too, sure.

He wants to stay down and recover, just a tick to catch his breath, but he's hoisted up again, this time by his hair. Lance whines as his head is yanked back so far it's hard to breathe. Tower's voice is hot in his ear. "If you do not speak as you have volunteered, I will kill you, and the last words to escape your mouth will be you pleading for your life." Then he turns to their silent audience, eyes landing on Unma in particular. "That is of course, unless someone else wants to volunteer?"

Unsurprisingly, no one answers, and Lance doesn't expect them to. Lance is the one who is supposed to be protecting them. At the same time, he feels the beginning stages of panic because he doesn't want to die and _why is no one trying to save him?_

The hot muzzle of a gun presses into the underside of his jaw. No messing around, huh? Give them what they want or death. The question comes, "Where are the Plexia Crystals?" And Lance says nothing because betrayal simply does not exist in his bones.

"Paladins of Voltron are meant to protect the innocent, I thought," Tower mocks. "You are doing nothing but prolonging the inevitable. Why are you even here?"

It's rhetorical, Lance knows, yet still he tries to defend the honor of his team. What they represent. What he will represent to his dying breath, which might be pretty soon.

 _We're here to help,_ he tries to say, but only succeeds in a series of wet gurgles. Ah, okay. More hurt than he originally thought. Unable to protect anyone.

Some hero.

The gun whirs to life and Lance realizes with an alarming amount of acceptance that these really could be his final moments. Hopefully he's distracted the enemy long enough for the others to succeed in whatever it is they plan on doing.

 _"_ _Stop!"_

Lance chokes at the familiar sound of Unma's voice as it cracks with distress. The crowd, her people, seem to sink into an even deeper quiet than before. He squints in her direction as best as he can through the dark fog threatening to take over his vision. Sees her step forward like some martyr, her posture regal and he hands trembling. No one stops her.

"You will not lay another hand on this human."

In the heavy silence, the sound of Unma being backhanded is sharp. The force almost sends her to the ground, but she erects herself, her cheek red and eyes watering, and despite her shorter stature she manages to wedge herself between Lance and the enemy and glare defiantly into her attacker's eyes. This is the moment Lance understands that Unma has the potential to be a strong and impactful leader like Allura; she just doesn't know it yet.

…But this isn't supposed to happen. Lance tries to say it but garbles uselessly instead. He can feel it, the head injury, knows it has something to do with the sticky wetness on his face and yet somehow cannot fully connect the two. He tries to reach out—to what, he doesn't know. His helmet, to Unma—but his fingers only twitch. He wants to protect. _Needs_ to protect. If he can't do that, what good is he?

Unma's voice is so fierce it sends chills rippling through his entire, broken body. "I can assure you, if you so much as touch a hair on his head again, you will _never_ attain what you seek."

Surely hearing their leader speak after years and years of muteness has her people frozen in shock and awe. Lance wishes he could see it but his heart breaks because this is not the way it was meant to happen. This is not the way Unma is meant to break the mold. Not for him.

"N….no," he manages to groan miserably. Small miracles. He tries to push through the pain to get to his hands and knees, but Unma crouches next to him and presses him back to the ground.

"Please, friend. Remain as you are."

She has a voice he wants to listen to without question, but its _funny_ , isn't it? A girl who has spent her entire life holding her tongue is telling him to hold his. He tries to laugh. Coughs instead.

And then Unma is being yanked away from him by her arm by the Galran who has remained silent up to this point, and its then that Draxis crawls out of the woodwork with an expression of absolute loathing. "That is enough," he demands, and Lance wants to tell him _no no no, don't anger the guy who has his hands on the princess, that's stupid risky._ But Draxis reveals no fear. "Release the princess now, and _I_ will contribute to negotiations willingly."

"Interesting. The girl is all it took," Tower muses, stealing Unma from the other Galran's grasp and throwing her unceremoniously to the ground next to Lance. He then crouches down and playfully fingers Lance's hair. "Thank you for delivering such a valuable bargaining chip, Paladin."

Lance wants to vomit.

Unma screams as something collides with the side of his head, sending him into a blackness that leaves him reeling. From there he fades in and out and only catches scraps of events.

Somewhere in his mind he knows that Tower has escorted Draxis away somewhere. The remaining Galran are talking and laughing and terrorizing the citizens of Decibon. He hears Pidge's voice, calling out instructions, hears Hunk's gun firing. When he pries his eyes open a little he sees Keith do things that action heroes do in the movies, the kind of movies that Keith has probably never even heard of. At some point there is an explosion and Lance thinks he is going to die, but he sees flashes of colors. Red, black, yellow and green. There's fighting. People being ushered to safety. Unma never leaves his side until a familiar black blur looms over him and passes her off to a red one.

There are hands on him, gentle and soothing and strong. Shiro's voice is unmistakable, even through the pain.

"I've got you, buddy. Good job."

Lance disagrees. He did bad. Very, very bad. He wants to help and tries to say as much. Fails at that, too.

He manages a whimper and closes his eyes, welcoming that persistent blackness and succumbing to it completely.

XXX

He wakes up in Hunk's arms, aching and confused. Hunk's face is wrinkled in concern but there is clear relief in his eyes when Lance looks up to him. "Oh thank God. Lance!"

"Hunk… Is the princess…"

"Everyone is alright, buddy."

"No thanks to you." Draxis' silhouette glides into view. His voice is unforgiving and it makes Lance cringe. Hunk's arms slightly tighten around him. "By speaking out you put our people and our princess in danger. You coerced Unma to breach her vow of silence, putting her life, and her values, at risk. If not for my intervention, there is no telling what would have transpired."

"I…" Lance wheezes, not actually knowing what it is he wants to say. But Draxis is _wrong_. "The princess—"

"Has suffered a huge burden due to your stupidity. The Galrans, thankfully, have retreated for now, thanks to your teammates timely arrival and my own negotiations. But you, Blue Paladin of Voltron, you have doomed us all."

XXX

 **A/N:** I would give excuses as to why this update took so long but let's be honest; you're here for the story.I'm posting this story as a result of a fic exchange with fellow author and friend, **IcyPanther**. The rules were as follows:

1\. Story must revolve around Lance losing his ability to speak. The HOW is fair game.  
2\. Story must be between 20k to 100k words (a real test for Icy)  
3\. Story is a gen fic (I have nothing against klance but this fic will be pure bromance)  
3\. Story will be posted on Nov. 1 and finished by Jan. 31, 2018 (yeah lol this will not be happening for me)  
5\. The following lines **must** be used somewhere within the story:  
Icy to heyheroics: _"We're here to help you"_  
heyheroics to Icy: _"Just let me do this"_

BESIDES, the rules are more like guidelines XD

PLEASE keep in mind that _I am unable to commit to a proper posting schedule_ and will be updating this fic as I complete chapters. I'm going to get them out as soon as I can, guys. Thank you for your understanding on this!

In the meantime, do go visit IcyPanther and her fantastic work (her fic for this challenge is _The Purity of Sin_ and you must go check it out!) and leave her a review to show her how much you appreciate all of her hard work! She is so much better at this than me!

 **I also want to mention** that if you have a moment, please do drop a comment/review. I personally do not obsess over reviews, BUT authors spend days, weeks, sometimes YEARS working hard on fics for others to enjoy, it takes less than a minute to leave a comment saying you appreciate their hard work. Please don't let proper reviews become a dying gesture. It's only polite to let authors know that you are enjoying the content they are creating for you to enjoy.

Thank you :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Updates, what are those? I'm sorry, I can only say sorry. I won't go into detail but time is not my friend.  
I'm sorry for all the jumping around in this chapter but it had to be done. Hopefully now we can get into the nitty-gritty of things.

The rules of Icy and I's challenge are as follows:

1\. Story must revolve around Lance losing his ability to speak. The HOW is fair game.

2\. Story must be between 20k to 100k words (a real test for Icy)

3\. Story is a gen fic (I have nothing against klance but this fic will be pure bromance)

4\. Story will be posted on Nov. 1 and finished by Jan. 31, 2018 (LOL THIS IS NOT HAPPENING NOT BY A LONG SHOT HELP ME)

5\. The following lines must be used somewhere within the story:

Icy to heyheroics: "We're here to help you"

heyheroics to Icy: "Just let me do this"

A special thanks to **Haleykim84** and **Emerald_Ashes** , who let me ramble and think out loud and ask a lot of annoying questions, and for helping me brainstorm and bringing this fic to life.

Also, a reminder to keep in mind that I am unable to commit to a proper posting schedule and will be updating this fic as I complete chapters. I'm going to get them out as soon as I can, guys. Thank you for your understanding on this!  
In the meantime, do go visit **IcyPanther** and her fantastic work (her fic for this challenge is _The Purity of Sin_ and you must go check it out!) and leave her a review to show her how much you appreciate all of her hard work! She is a fantastic person and a beautiful story-teller!

* * *

XXX

Lance does not know Draxis on a very personal level but for him to say the entire planet is _doomed_ because of _him_ seems dramatic.

He peels himself out of Hunk's lap, wobbling to his feet. He reaches out to grab the sleeve of Draxis' robe just as the translator turns to leave.

"Wait," Lance gasps. "What do you _mean_?"

Draxis faces him with a mix of emotion in his steely gray eyes. Lance has no problem placing the anger but there is something else that he cannot place, even as Draxis grabs his shoulder to pull him aside and speaks in a harsh whisper for only him to hear.

"Our people are only safe at the expense of our precious Plexia Crystals. You left me no choice but to negotiate with terrorists; it was the crystals or our lives. Now they are in the hands of evil and our planet is no longer able to safeguard nor relocate. We are, what I believe your species refers to as, _a sitting bird_."

The lump in his throat is almost too big to swallow. In one fell swoop he's managed to endanger an entire planet, get himself pummeled in front of an audience, shatter Unma's chances at making the change she wants to make with her people, _and_ has put Allura's alliance at risk. Something heavy presses down on his chest as he replays it all in his head. Without those crystals, Decibon is just waiting to be taken advantage of. Because of _him_. He really is just a burden.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, finding his palms to be uncomfortably sweaty. His tongue squirms around in his mouth, desperate to say something to fix it or at least lessen the blow, but speaking is what got him into this mess and he swallows the urge. Instead he meets Draxis' stare with the most apologetic look he can muster because he's so sorry, like _so, so sorry_ , and has never found himself in a situation where he cannot verbally express as much. Panic starts to rise, dangerous like the tides he grew up with. This could destroy everything. Every beating heart matters in Allura's coalition, just like every beating heart on Decibon deserves to be protected. But now the planet is vulnerable and angry, and Allura is being deprived of the support she so rightly deserve in this fight. He can't allow it. He _won't_.

Draxis takes an audible, slow inhale, his voice still at a whisper. "Our people have suffered enough since the arrival of Voltron. After the events of today, I trust that you will learn to keep your tongue in check."

Without a moment's hesitation Lance is nodding vigorously, triggering vertigo. Hunk appears next to him to keep him from toppling over, one hand against his back to balance him and the other against his injured head. Together they watch Draxis depart in a way that feels terribly, horribly final.

"Come on, buddy," Hunk says quietly as Lance slumps a little more heavily against him. "Let's get you cleaned up."

XXX

The cyropod spits him out less than a varga later and before he can shake off the residual frost, Coran is stuffing him back into formal attire. Lance misses the outfit from before, but if memory serves right, its been shredded and bloodied. He'll have to make that up to Coran later.

Coran, with a tender smile and without a hint of discontent about his spoiled garments, squeezes Lance into a lovely blue blazer with two flowing tails. Nestled comfortably underneath, a soft white collared shirt hugs his throat while golden buttons line the ensemble's front; even the neatly pressed pants have hints of gold shimmering along the seams. He gets the chance to admire himself in the mirror again and sees how tired he is. Being quiet all the time is exhausting.

Coran comes up behind him in the reflection to reach for his hair, brushing back some of his short locks and placing a small, blue pin just above his left ear. It reminds him of the jewelry his sister would often wear. Flashy but subtle, just like her. His expression twists in confusion, but Coran smiles. "Allura insists," he explains. "It's for protection. And luck!"

Lance smirks at himself, warmed at the gesture as he brushes the tiny trinket with his fingers. Allura really is the most amazing person.

He won't let her down.

A few dobashes later he is guided back to the cave burrows, back into the planet's gut to where the Plexia Crystals once resided. The rest of the team is there, as well as Draxis and Unma, hovering around a hunched over Pidge as she tacks away at her laptop.

"Lance," Allura's voice is relieved as she places a hand over her chest. "How are you feeling?"

Lance debates telling her that mentally he feels a wreck. Emotionally he feels distraught. But physically, thanks to the cyro-pod, other than the faint tingling of a headache, "Good." Then, to deflect the attention that has suddenly found itself on him, he adds, "What are we doing?"

Pidge never tears her eyes away from her screen, but she does tilt her head slightly in Lance's direction. "Hunk and I are trying to devise a way to transfer the Green Lion's cloaking ability to Decibon's internal system to allow the planet to conceal itself temporarily while we try to find a more long-term solution, you know, in case we can't successfully retrieve the crystals ourselves." A short scoff. "Not that we won't be able to. But in the meantime until we come up with a solid plan, I'm having a hard time finding how the Plexia Crystals actually communicated with the planet's core. It's not like there is any technical wiring to work with."

"We're trying to work off the trace aura left behind by the crystals, but…" Hunk adds in but trails off, side-glancing Pidge as if afraid to offend her, as the girl's shoulders noticeably tense. "…no luck yet."

Lance nods, squatting next to Pidge to stare at her work only to find that what is on the screen is beyond his comprehension. Regardless he tries to summon a plan to make things right again. Even if he can't grasp the numbers and equations on her computer, he can still try to come up with something helpful.

"Turns out the crystals don't just give the planet the ability to move around and hide," Hunk relays, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder to give a comforting squeeze. Coming out of the pods leaves a person feeling tired and groggy. They've all been in and out enough times to know the feeling and Lance appreciates the knowing comfort. "It also provided actual power to the city. About three-quarters of their power grid is down. The rest is back-up generators fueled by plants. Those crystals were so embedded into the planet's core that it affected foliage, making them a minimal source of power; it's kind of cool, really."

Hunk's vaguely concealed excitement over the technology forces a tiny smirk to Lance's lips, but the guilt still triumphs. Instead of being fascinated by strange alien advances, he finds himself playing and replaying how many mistakes he's made in the past day or so, which, admittedly, does nothing to help the situation. No help. Just like always.

Across the platform, Keith keeps his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Closed off. Not happy with this, the way things happened, the fact that they _did_ happen, that the alliance is compromised. That Lance got hurt. Granted, he and the others managed to arrive in time to prevent anything more from happening but ultimately a member of his team had been injured. And Keith is not finished fuming over it.

While Pidge and Hunk work, and while Lance hovers in an attempt to help, he gets lost in his head of all the things he could have done differently. Getting there sooner would have been ideal, to prevent anyone from getting hurt, or the princess from having to speak out or Draxis from having to negotiate the very crystals that they are currently trying to replicate. At the same time, Lance's intervention had provided a long enough diversion for them to get there before any lives were lost.

Still, the failure frustrates him.

At his side, Draxis seems to be fuming as well but for entirely different reasons. Their eyes just so happen to lock at random and Keith holds it awkwardly.

"We'll get them back," Keith says quietly, so as not to disturb the others from their research. Allura and Coran have migrated over as well to ask questions and partake in the brainstorming, while Shiro pokes around the area in search of anything potentially useful. _Someone_ had to physically be here to take the crystals, after all.

Draxis looks unconvinced and not at all amused. "Your friend caused a great deal of strife for our people."

"We already apologized," Keith said, trying hard to keep his voice as non-aggressive as possible. It's difficult when Draxis is stirring up more than a few negative emotions. "You know, one of ours suffered too. Lance put himself in _danger_ to _protect_ your people."

"And forced our princess to speak out, to the enemy no less. This is a massive breech to a custom that has been abided by our people for generations."

Arms still crossed, Keith can feel himself digging short nails into his biceps in an attempt to keep calm. Lance is flashy and loud, but his morals and sense of right and wrong are too dominant to compromise a mission. Even Keith knows that.

The translator continues. "In the past, your friend would have been severely punished for his misdoings by having his tongue cut out. The Old Law requires that one who sins with speech will be stripped of their ability to do so ever again. Only translators have—"

"Draxis." Keith just barely manages to avoid hissing, the image of Lance bleeding profusely from his normally chatty mouth flashing across his mind briefly. He manages to banish the thought but not before it successfully disturbs him. Keith doesn't know much about the Old Law Draxis is talking about and he doesn't know how things have changed between then and now, but if he's honest, he doesn't care. What he cares about is here and now, and no amount of ancient rules can cancel out Lance's good intentions. There are a lot of things Keith wants to say in that moment, but he keeps his response as clipped and summarized as he possibly can. "We're here to help you."

To which Draxis never replies and Keith feels grateful for it.

XXX

Little headway is made, and plans for finding a way to cloak the planet and replicate the Plexia Crystals are put on the back burner. Even after everything, Unma insists that the celebration still takes place. At least, this is what Draxis relays for her since she seems to have fallen back into silence. It puts a crack in Lance's heart to know that his blunder has somehow driven her back into muteness, because _he_ failed to do the one thing that was asked of him. So when the celebration continues as planned, it is with a not so subtle sprinkle of awkward tension and uncertainty.

But Lance refuses to show his distress. Voltron is strong and good. Even in the face of doubt, he knows they can prove as much; they just need a window of opportunity to do so.

So here he sits, eyes cast down to his lap as food is served across the tables of everyone gathered. It's the most awkward and quiet celebration he's ever been to and he can't even cut the tension with a joke.

Unma sits at the head of the table and every once in a while he tries to catch her eyes to convey a million things with just a glance (and oh, he has endless questions he wants to ask, tons of reassurances he want to give to her), except he lacks whatever skillful connection that the Decibonians seem to have with their translators. But he receives the ghost of a smile from her, and from that alone Lance is almost inclined to believe there is still hope.

The smell of unidentifiable food wafts under his nose and Lance brings his attention to the strange concoctions that he assumes is his meal. It certainly isn't anything near Hunk's level of presentation (Hunk can make food look like it's been pulled right off the page of a gourmet magazine—he even makes food goo look good). This stuff looks nothing like that but then again, maybe he's been spoiled.

Down the table, as everyone continues in grim silence, Unma nudges Draxis' arm, prompting him to stand. He then proceeds to tap an elegant piece of silverware against an equally elegant goblet, turning heads.

"Honored guests, please accept this official welcome to our humble planet. It would appear that your arrival here with us has been… timely." The uneasy shifts of bodies is hard to miss. "It would seem wise to consent to this alliance seeing as there is a very real threat to our civilization's well-being."

There is a noticeable pause and Lance finds himself holding his breath. He is startled when a platter suddenly appears next to him. Similar platters hover next to the other members of the team as well, all adorned with crystal glasses filled with a brilliant, luminescent purple liquid. A translator sitting across from Shiro taps the rim of the glass and says to him, "Careful, friends. It stains easily."

Overhearing the exchange relaxes Lance slightly. There are still friendlies among them, thank goodness.

Shiro nods his thanks, looking equally pleased at the pleasant exchange. Lance wonders what Shiro thinks about all of this and wants desperately to ask. Instead he dips his pinky finger into the drink experimentally, pulling it out to find it has indeed been tainted purple. He quickly wipes it off on his pants when he hears Draxis clear his throat.

"On our planet, Kradrah is a beverage offered as an apology. Please…" he pauses and only continues after the expectant nod from Unma. "Accept this token of our sincerest apologies. Let us bury today's grievances and start anew. Now is a time of celebration as we welcome the Paladins of Voltron and their promise," he trails off again. Settles his eyes on Lance. "…to protect us."

Draxis lifts his own glass to the sky, filled with the same purple liquid as the rest of them. His friends lift theirs as well and even Unma has her own raised high.

"To comradery."

Countless glasses clink together and then Draxis and Unma take a sip. Everyone else follows their lead.

One chair over, Hunk is letting the drink sit in his mouth to appreciate the taste, a habit he's done since back when they were kids. Hunk's mother was a wonderful cook and instilled an appreciation for good tasting things in him at a young age. There's a lot more to Hunk than a good palette, of course; he's a strong engineer, a deep thinker, a problem solver and one of the most comfortable shoulders Lance has had the pleasure of crying on. Best in the world. The _universe_. Pidge, another seat over, is twisting her expression into disgust as she clearly seems to dislike the taste, grimacing with a flash of plum-stained teeth. Curious, Lance takes his first sip and can taste what seems like the faintest hint of alcohol, or whatever similar thing passes for alcohol on this planet, and for as rebellious and daring as the Green Paladin can be, Lance doesn't see her as the type to indulge in drinking. Not like him at a young age, when his brother and sister allowed him a few sips here and there of their own secret stash.

It reminds him of sweet wine, which leads him to believe that Keith has a bit of a sweet tooth, because the Red Paladin has practically drained his entire glass already. No tact at all. Not like Shiro, Allura and Coran, who take their time and pace themselves the way respectful diplomats should.

Lance observes his glass, turning it in his hand, admiring the magnificent color. He drinks again, noticing vacantly that his pinky is still stained purple. His gaze shifts over to Unma, who is smiling at him again, genuine and merciful. She has forgiven him before there was ever anything to forgive.

"If I may…" Allura stands tentatively, but with that familiar grace that Lance admires. She is given the go-ahead from a kind wave of the hand from Unma. "I just want to express our deepest gratitude. For everything. Your kindness and patience has been overwhelming and we have no intention of letting you down." Allura does wonderful keeping the waver out of her voice, and stopping herself from adding on the word ' _again._ ' "We will not rest until we show you the true good that Voltron can accomplish when backed with the power of trust and fellowship."

Her vow seems to go over well. Lance only hopes that it's enough to hold the planet of Decibon over until they can prove it.

After the feast is over, the civilians mingle (or at least, as close to mingling as they can for people who do not speak), and Lance finds it hard to blend into the nearby wall. He certainly tries, but against the stark white paint, he feels as though he stands out even more. He innocently watches Unma throughout the night, waiting for his chance to catch her and apologize, but even vargas later he finds himself still leaning against the wall having accomplished nothing. Even when the 'festivities' die down to just a simmer, something keeps him there. Even as the crowd and Unma herself seems to vanish for the night, Lance continues to nest there.

"Get some good rest, Lance," Shiro's voice comes softly from behind, a comforting hand patting him on his back. "Tomorrow we can try and make amends and figure out how to help these people."

Helping people sounds great, but rest sounds even better. Lance can practically _feel_ the bags hanging under his eyes; he rubs at them, nodding faintly. "Yeah…"

Still he stands there, frozen by something unnamed, even after Shiro and the others retreat to the lovely sleeping quarters provided to them. It's dark on Decibon now that it is void of most of it's power, making the natural stars shine brighter than ever. He tries to take comfort in their presence, yet almost wishes he could slink underground and sit in the faint glow of their magnificent artificial star map. That would be trespassing though, and besides, it requires two people to get past the main door anyway.

Just as he is about to head towards his own sleeping arrangements, something soft wraps around his wrist.

Lance is startled, his throat drying up instantly. Having the entire party to prepare what to say, he finds he still isn't ready. "Un-Unma… I… I'm _sorry_. What happened before is... it's all my—"

"Shh," the princess hushes him kindly, like a mother would a frightened child. For the briefest of ticks, Lance misses his Mama, before he is distracted by the fact that Unma is speaking to him. Whispering to him. _Again_. "Do not apologize."

The warm blush on his face is replaced with a tinge of sadness. "This… That wasn't the way things were supposed to happen. You weren't ready to… because of me, you—"

"Because of you, no true harm fell unto me or my people," she insists, reaching out to lift Lance's chin when his head goes crestfallen. "I am not here to reprimand you, but to thank you for your bravery. In time, everyone, even Draxis, will understand." Her smile is soft and knowing and everything he needs in that moment. "Difficult times are inevitable, my friend. But I trust we will overcome. Voltron will see to it."

"I don't…" he tries, then releases a breath. No wonder men risk everything to save princesses. "We will. _Thank_ you, Unma."

Her voice dips to a lower register, eyes darting around before befalling on Lance again. Still not ready to be heard by anyone else. Getting to witness this side of the princess makes Lance feel special, and that is a massive understatement.

"Now, please get proper rest. Tomorrow is a new day."

Lance finds himself nodding stupidly, drunk on her empathy and admiring the genuine companionship he has built with this creature in such a short time. She leans towards him and Lance instinctively opens his arms to accept her in an embrace, only to freeze up completely when she instead lands a chaste kiss to his cheek.

If that isn't a good note to end the day on, Lance doesn't know what is. He and his burning face retreat into his room and sink into the bed, where he lies on his back and stares at the dotted texture of the ceiling, wishing they were stars.

Vargas pass and Lance never finds himself falling into the restful sleep that Unma wished for him. His mind filters through princes and princesses, of translators and the people they speak for, of purple stains and awkward dinners, of Galra invasions and doomed planets. He comes up with a bunch of epic scenarios of what he missed while he was knocked out, of what Draxis could have possibly said to send the Galra on their way and what was to keep them from coming back. He thinks about how they're going to earn the forgiveness from Unma's people the way Unma herself has already done, or how they're going to go about retrieving the beloved crystals that are the linchpin of the entire planet. He wonders how much longer it will take Pidge to inevitably come up with a brilliant plan.

Distractions are not kind to Lance, and yet he doesn't know how to avoid them.

In fact he is so lost in thought, he nearly misses the soft knock at his quarters.

He half expects it to be Allura, sneaking off to his room to have a long hard discussion in private about all the things he's done wrong on this trip so far, what he should avoid doing next time and ultimately why she feels Lance isn't ready for diplomacy roles just yet. This, technically, isn't likely, he knows, but the irrational fear still lingers there. A more likely option is Unma once more, a presence he will certainly welcome, to offer him more words of kindness and optimism. Lance thinks that the princess of Decibon _enjoys_ using her voice, and in turn Lance enjoys being the one she trusts to use it with.

He pushes the thoughts aside and is understandably startled when he pulls open the door and reveals someone else entirely.

"…Draxis?"

He is there in the same robes he was wearing at the party, looking as though he has had no intentions of even trying to sleep. He's holding a simple, silver tray, round and elegant. Balanced on top of it are two crystal glasses with more of that purple liquid from before. Kudos or something like that, it was called. Lance stares at the drinks for a full five ticks, then at Draxis. Softly, he breathes, "I don't understand."

"May I enter," Draxis says more than asks, offering the slightest of bows.

"I… of course," Lance obliges, stepping aside. Draxis brushes past him and only turns to face him once the door audibly shuts.

"I come to ask a favor of you," Draxis voices quietly, lifting the tray with the two drinks. Draxis' company so soon after Unma's drives Lance to believe that she has something to do with Draxis' change of heart, and he finds himself staring into Draxis' eyes for any kind of revelation. "But first, I owe you a more... personal apology. Paladin Lance, I have been unfair to you; please accept my sincerest apologies, to a more intimate degree. I hope you can understand that my actions stem from a good place. A place that cares deeply for the best interests of the princess."

Lance inhales slowly, holds it, exhales loudly and understands. He himself will do _anything_ for his own princess. Allura is someone he will sacrifice his dying breath for – they all are – even if it means being harsh to someone else. Even if that someone else means well. What kind of hypocritical monster would he be to punish Draxis for being the same way he is with his own?

He feels his heart open as Draxis extends the tray to him. He smiles as he takes one of the glasses because maybe an alliance isn't such a far off idea after all. "There's nothing to forgive."

At this, Draxis seems to brighten. He sets the tray down and grasps the stem of the remaining glass. "To the future," he toasts, tapping the rims together.

Lance has yet to peel his eyes away from Draxis' face, searching. Growing up, Lance had been taught to believe that there is good in everyone and that anyone is capable of change. He embraces that ideology even in the midst of a space war, and moments like this reassure him that he isn't following a lost concept. Good people are not yet extinct.

"To the future," Lance echoes, tilting the glass to his lips and taking in two solid gulps. He feels it travel down his throat, tingly and lingering. It is as sweet and light as it was before but with a hint of saltiness, and a strange mineral-like texture that noticeably warms his belly. It's nice.

"I am most relieved to put our grievances behind us. Thank you for accepting my peace offering. However there is still the matter at hand."

Lance feels his throat tighten and Draxis carefully watches him as he sets the drink down. If he can make amends with Draxis now... "Listen… About what happened with the Galra…"

Draxis raises a hand, signaling for Lance to stop. He does.

"What's done is done. I am not here to punish you for your actions. Actions I now understand were not of rebellion, but of loyalty, which is something I understand deeply. But I'm afraid our precious Plexia Crystals were still taken from us, a repercussion that could have been avoided and needs to be rectified."

Lance feels himself start to fidget. He isn't new to vaguely concealed blame. In the Garrison, Iverson introduced him to it on a daily basis. Still, he can't feel angry with Draxis for bringing it up. Intentions aside, he _is_ to blame for the loss of those crystals.

"Do not belittle yourself, paladin. All is not yet lost. You," Draxis declares, setting strong hands atop of Lance's shoulders. "You have an opportunity to redeem yourself. A chance to right wrongs. To prove once and for all the worth of the promise made by you and your fellow paladins, and cement the union between Voltron and Decibon once and for all." The hands on his shoulders give a light squeeze, suddenly filling Lance with a sense of duty.

A few ticks of silence pass. Draxis breaks the stillness by taking Lance's previously discarded glass, still half full, and handing it to him. With slightly shaking hands, Lance accepts it. It'd be rude not to finish it, so he drains it completely. Every last purple drop of Draxis' apology.

"It can be done," the translator emphasizes. "But only if you wish it."

Yes, yes, more than anything _yes_ , Lance wants to seal the deal for Allura's alliance. He wants to make her proud and prove his worth as the Blue Paladin. He wants to show Unma that there is a future worth looking forward to. Prove Voltron's worth as a means of protection, a true defender of the universe.

It's possible. _Holy cheese_ , it's all so very real and very _possible._

 _He can_ _ **fix**_ _it._

Lance sets down the glass, wets his suddenly dry, stained lips and leans forward. His whisper is so hoarse it hurts his throat. " _How?"_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Does anyone remember this story? Lots going on over here, sorry!

I think it's safe to say that the rules of this challenge are out the window, haha! But we will get to the end of this!

I still want to thank **Haleykim84** and **Emerald_Ashes** for their help in getting this story started. Please go check out these wonderful people and their equally wonderful work and leave them lots of love!

Also, PLEASE keep in mind that _I am unable to commit to a proper posting schedule_ and will be updating this fic as I complete chapters. Thank you for your understanding on this!

AND! Go and visit **IcyPanther** and her _fantastic_ work and leave her your best comments/reviews to show her how much you appreciate all of her hard work! She is a fantastic person and a beautiful story-teller!

If you like THIS fic, please leave me a review and let me know that you forgive me for long gaps between updates :D

Okay. Onward!

* * *

XXX

Keith does not trust easily.

He's always been this way, for as long as he can remember. The why isn't necessarily important, at least not to him, but Keith has been presented with plenty of reasons to always be on guard. No matter what people promise, no matter what services they can provide, at the end of the day they are only there for themselves. People just can't be trusted.

The Decibonians gifted each paladin with their very own guestroom. They are simplistic in nature but still very warm and welcoming. Keith is grateful for the offer and doesn't mean to be rude, but if he's going to sleep soundly it will be in the confines of his own room on the castleship where it is familiar and safe.

The city retires, the party over, and Keith makes the walk back where the gentle swoosh of his door welcomes him to his tiny secluded room. He sits on the bed. Observes his knife. Thinks. Runs a finger absentmindedly along the edge of his trusted blade, headspace in a fog even though he can't entirely place the reason. Keith's gut is an instinctive creature by nature, something that insists that he move. That he act.

For it to sit there in insistent unease without Keith having something to react _to_ was troubling.

He thought about the party. The Glara. How many more worlds were they going to hurt before enough was enough? Or - Keith feels his face darken at the memory of a beaten, bloodied Lance - how many lives?

His grip tightens on the knife's hilt - he already knows the answer to that. He understands they are fighting a war. That doesn't make it any less pointless.

In a form of self comfort, Keith continues to run the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge with moderate pressure, skin too calloused to break and somehow the sensation is comforting.

That's when he feels the tremor. Slight, but he feels it.

The source is not hard to place, not when muffled through the castle wall he can hear the _roar_.

Being in space in a castle housing 5 magical, mechanical and yet very sentient lions for as long as Keith has, he can easily pick out the minor differences in the voices of said lions. The guttural but airy roar rumbling through the halls now is most definitely Blue's call, and a hard-wired distrust prompts Keith to leap out of bed and race for the hangers. Because logically, there is no good reason why any of the lions should be leaving the castle right now.

 _Not Galra_ , his mind tries to logic. If it were Galra they'd be taking the Black Lion. _What, then?_

His legs are burning when he makes the turn into Blue's hanger, but he's met with the sight of a missing lion and the chilly after-gust as the bay doors slide shut. Just missed it.

"Damn!" He pulls a 180 to make a mad dash to his own hanger. It had been stupid of them not to all sleep near the castle. _In_ the castle. Leaving the lions unmanned was reckless. People can't be trusted.

Barreling into Red's hanger Keith dons his armor while running into the waiting maw with practiced ease. The controls are already humming to life as he throws himself into the pilot seat, lights casting an angry glow across the freshly buffed armor. He grips the flight sticks so hard he expects them to snap under the pressure. Through his teeth he gives his command. "Do not lose them."

Red shoots into space and hovers amidst the stars while Keith drags his fingertips across the board, bringing maps to life and summoning a blue icon to the holo-screen. Blue is fast, but Red has always been faster.

"I swear, Lance, if you're out on another joyride…" Because it wouldn't be the first time and Lance's lion is playful enough to grant him such pleasures. A beacon pops up on screen, already a fair distance away. Keith directs Red to it and pushes the handles forward before activating the comms. "Lance. Lance, can you hear me?"

No response.

Between frustration and worry, frustration wins. Keith finds himself audibly growling, even as he comes up to a strange, jagged planet that on his radar shows up as void. But there are purple lights illuminating it in patches, much like the city night lights of Earth when viewed from space, leading Keith to believe that it is, in fact, inhabited.

Ironically enough, or maybe not ironically at all, the Blue Lion's beacon has gone stagnant here.

Then he sees Lance, or what he hopes to be Lance. The Blue Lion is floating as if abandoned, floating close to the fringe of the meteor shower. Dangerously close.

"Lance," he tries once more through the comms, authority in his voice. As much of a goof-off as Lance is, he knows when to respond appropriately to authority. "It's Keith. Do you copy?"

Still nothing filters through the comms. Not even static. Blue creeps closer to the rocks. It's amazing she hasn't been struck yet. Maybe she's already been hit.

That last thought spurs Keith into action. Get in, get the Blue Lion, get out. Get in, get the Blue Lion, get out. Get in…

Keith jets forward, dodging random chunks of rock with agility he prides himself in, even if sometimes the sudden sharp movements flips his stomach. In just a few ticks he's on top of the Blue Lion, intent to snatch her up and carry her home.

"Come on… come on!"

But perhaps that gut instinct isn't always a blessing, because Blue twists at the last second as if startled, and Keith isn't ready for the altered position, or the resulting impact.

They don't stay tangled for long, but it's enough to throw them deeper into the throes of the meteor shower, where hit after hit begins to rain down on the mechanical exterior of both the Red and Blue lions. The strikes are not all too powerful but they are plentiful, enough to send them spiraling. The dizzying result gives Keith little time to properly react in the next few moments, even though time slows down and several things happen at once.

He is still spinning. A giant boulder hurtles towards him.

A burst of static registers before a screen flickers to life with Lance's wide-eyed, disbelieving face.

The boulder crashes dead-on into Red's nose, causing the lights to flicker and for Keith to be thrown bodily out of his seat. He hits the ceiling violently, accompanied by a crack that might be his armor.

There is a painful flash of white, followed by a painless black.

XXX

In his seat, be it from nerves or excitement, Lance trembles.

Pidge's satchel sits on the floor, propped against his leg. He'd stolen it from her favorite little leave-me-alone hidey-hole, where it had been predictably buried under a nest of thick blankets. Hopefully she won't be too mad to find it missing. His helmet sits next to it. There is currently no need to keep the lines of communication open, not when no one knows he's out here. Not when he'll be in and out before anyone even notices he's gone.

Blue hadn't hesitated to let him in and embark on his personal mission. He never doubted she would because Blue is a good girl. She reassures him very few minutes while he sits there bouncing his foot, nerves on end, mind on overdrive. There is no turning back now. No time for doubt. He made a promise.

 _Lance observed offhandedly that his hands were much smaller than Draxis'. It wasn't that strange; his hands were not small like Pidge's or thick like Hunk's. His fingers were long like a pianist would have, palms wide to help him push himself through water, fingernails trimmed and cleaned almost daily, but they looked puny when Draxis took them in his own to pull Lance closer with an almost alarming urgency._

 _He forced something into Lance's hands then, forcing his fingers around it before pulling away. Lance could see the faint purple glow through the gaps of his fingers._

 _Wasn't that…? Weren't they all…?_

 _"I saved one," Draxi whispered, easily able to read Lance's thoughts as he rolled open his fingers to reveal a single, faintly twinkling Plexia Crystal. "It is alive, Paladin Lance, and it is not meant to be alone. It longs to reunite with the others."_

 _So it was lonely. On a very deep level that he dared not broach, Lance could relate to that._

 _Lance tried to breathe an impressed 'wow' but it came out as nothing more than a rasp. The sound is strange and he doesn't expect it, but Draxis' fingertips press against his mouth to silence him before he can think further on the matter._

 _"I am afraid sacrificing our beloved crystals was all I could do at the time to save our people. For now we are safe, but we cannot be without the Plexia Crystals." He grabbed at Lance's hands again, easily able to enclose them around said crystal. "You seek redemption, I know. I can see it. I can feel it. It is yours; you only have to do this one thing."_

 _Lance didn't dare speak again, too afraid it will come out in a wisp. He nodded instead, firm and a little desperate._

 _"Listen to it," Draxis continued, tipping his head towards Lance's cupped hands, where the purple glow was still seeping through the gaps and warming his skin. "It will tell you where to go. But please proceed with caution; it is a dangerous task. That is why I ask it of you, paladin of Voltron."_

 _Lance gripped the crystal so tight it hurt. This was it. This was his moment._

Okay.

Lance breathes in, then out.

He can do this.

It's easy. Follow the crystal. Follow it to the others and bring them back before everyone even wakes up.

The single Pelxia Crystal vibrates slightly, longing to be reunited with the rest. It seems to glow at the sight of the only planet within view as if its isolation brings it physical pain. The planet itself is purple, ominous and surrounded by flying rocks.

Seems about right.

Steadily he inches Blue closer, searching for a gap. An opportunity to squeeze through and touch land. The spaces between don't seem to grant him much of an opening, however, so Lance remains stationary and thinks. Surely Blue could blast away a big enough cluster of the rocks to make an accessible path.

Okay. Here goes nothing.

Lance plucks his helmet up from the ground and secures it over his head. Could be a bumpy ride.

"Come on... _come on!_ "

Lance blinks. _Keith?_

He turns to see, Blue following the motion, and he barely has a fraction of a tick to react to the sight of the Red lion flying at them with alarming speed.

The impact is harsh and jarring, throwing Lance off to the side of the cabin and sending Blue into the swarm of flying boulders. He tries to scream when his chest collides with the wall, stealing his air, and is deeply disturbed to find that he can't.

And while this should be the least of his worries, what with Blue being tossed around a meteor shower and all, he clutches at his throat in panic. When was the last time he'd used his voice, even? Maybe he just didn't hear it over the crash.

He wets his trembling lips.

 _'Blue.'_

No sound escapes his mouth. Not a peep.

Blue tries desperately to right herself in the onslaught. Lance knows he needs to make his way back to the pilot's seat. Help Blue land. Find Keith and Red and make sure they're alright. Why is Keith here?

Over the chaos he can hear Keith calling out through the comms and Lance tries to stifle reignited panic when he realizes he can't respond back. Something like muscle memory has him slamming a fist down on the video feed, where he gets a short glimpse of Keith's cabin before the image pixelates and cuts to black.

The sight outside makes him dizzy as Blue pinwheels towards the planet's surface, seemingly caught in it's gravitational pull. Vaguely he can make out dying trees and the vast blue blur of water.

He has the mind to make a grab for the backpack just before crash landing, hugging it to himself with all the strength he can muster.

It is anything but gentle, knocking him around like a marble in a pinball machine and reminding him that it would be wise to push Pidge to instal some sort of safety harness system. When he finally feels things go still, aches and bruises already screaming for attention on his body, he is still curled up tightly on the floor with the bag clutched close.

He stays there for a long while, feeling pain and exhaustion and letting himself breathe because apparently it's all he can do. After a few moments, he tries again to call out to Blue verbally, just to hear his own voice and prove to himself that it isn't actually gone.

Then he nearly bursts into tears because it is. For absolutely no reason, no sound comes out of his mouth because his voice is _gone_. Had he been injured somehow? Something on the planet, maybe?

Blue's lights flicker, the poor girl. Lance reaches out a quivering hand to stroke her cold floor. It's the only thing he can reach.

That's when he sees it. Out the window past the hairline crack, a blur of red hurtling towards the planet's surface. As it comes closer, Lance is able to identify the Red lion. He watches it tumble through the air, smacking against the branches of impossibly tall, black trees and snapping them in half before smacking into the nearby lake with an enormous splash.

The ripples subside. The bubbles stop. Lance waits and waits, eyes wide and expecting something to break through the surface but nothing does, so Lance _moves_.

He climbs into the pilot's chair and grabs at the handles, delighted to see the lights try to flicker back to life under his touch. Blue still manages to roll to her feet with a disgruntled growl and dive into the lake. Her movements are smoother (and happier, Lance thinks) now that she is water-bound. She swims into the depths, seemingly knowing exactly where to find her fallen friend.

The lake isn't deep, much to Lance's relief. Already he can see Red sitting at the bottom, lights out. Blue already has her jaw open to scoop the slightly smaller lion up. Lance can feel the added strain that comes from the extra weight, but Blue persists and Lance has every bit of faith that she will get them all back to land.

As usual, his lion does not let him down. She drags Red away from the water and sets him gently onto the soft soil. Lance eyes Red's underbelly compartment, waiting for the door to slide open and for a cranky Keith to stumble out, but he never does. The door stays shut, and after a moment, Lance realizes why; the metal is warped and bent in a way that prevents it from opening.

Oh, quiznack.

Blue feels his concern, nudges him in the back of his mind and begins to rev up a shot. She fires at the compartment door, blasting it clean off, which allows a small flood of water to rush out that had been trapped inside.

Lance cringes. They'll have to make up for the damages later. For now, though…

Lance grabs Pidge's backpack as he rushes for the exit, not even hesitating to hop into Red's now-busted entryway. It's difficult to see but he finds Keith's prone body right away, completely soaked and totally slack.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

Keith doesn't react, doesn't even make a sound as Lance drags him out into the open by his armpits, where he lies Keith flat on his back and drops to his knees. He palms dark, wet hair away from Keith's face and pats his cheek, hoping for a response. A curse. A twitch. Anything. Please, oh please.

Nothing.

Shiro had gone through the trouble of making sure everyone knew a thing or two about CPR, with good reason. But it's a skill already under Lance's belt thanks to a part-time job as a lifeguard back home before the Garrison. Trembling hands hover over Keith's far-too-still chest as he tries to recall the information. Okay. First things first; remove the chest plate so it doesn't get in the way.

His fingers fumble with the latch but he eventually gets the hunk of armor off and tosses it to the side. Then he laces his fingers together, positions his palms atop Keith's chest and— _oh god_ —begins compressions. He tries to pump to the beat of a song but all his brain can conjure up is the thought of going home with Keith's death on his hands and he almost forgets to stop to give air. He hiccups an unsaid apology for his less-than-gentle touch as he pinches Keith's fine nose between unsteady fingers to angle his head back, then leans in to connect their mouths. It's difficult to push air into Keith's mouth instead of sobbing into it, but he manages to do so at a steady pace.

Somehow, over his own frantic heartbeat, he hears the rustling in the distance, accompanied by hushed mumbling. He glances to the trees, to Blue, to Red, to Keith. Repeats. He's on Galra territory. _Galra_ , who love the thought of nabbing lions as a peace offering to those in higher power, who also won't hesitate to take advantage of a paladin out of commission. Galra, who have the absolute worst timing on any given day, like showing up when trying to drag a teammate back to life.

A silent whine crawls out of his throat. He's not off to a good start. He promised Draxis he'd make quick work of getting the Plexia Crystals back from the Galra and here he is about to get found out before stepping ten feet away from his lion.

Leaving his lion-

The rustling gets closer, the voices louder. Lance swears he sees movement.

-he'll have to.

Once more looping his arms under Keith's, Lance commands his aching body to drag the other boy towards the woods. Keith is heavy and awkward to tow around and his heels are tracing lines in the dirt. So with a wheeze Lance stops, tightens his grip and, thanks to adrenaline or anxiety or both, activates his jetpack in short bursts to carry Keith through the air. He keeps low and every short landing disturbs the dirt, but its better than the heel-trails they were leaving behind before.

He does this until fatigue makes Keith too heavy to carry, so he finds the nearest cluster of foliage he can and seeks refuge there. It'll have to do.

He flattens Keith along the forest floor and tries again, quietly as he can, to bring him back. _Please wake up,_ he thinks as he once more pushes down on Keith's chest. _Please._

Because suddenly Lance doesn't want to do this alone.

XXX

Everything hurt.

His chest outright burns when he inhales and for some reason he's spitting up water, hacking it up as someone or something manhandles him, rolling him over and then sitting him up against something scratchy and hard.

He groans, trying to swallow another round of coughing but doesn't get the chance as something clamps over his mouth to silence him.

Instinct kicks in, an impulse to protect himself, prompting Keith to swipe at the offending hand, catching it by the wrist. He twists it without a second thought.

He expects a scream or a retaliation but only hears a sharp, broken gasp, followed by a shaky exhale.

Keith opens his eyes then, confused by his surroundings. Dead trees, plants he doesn't recognize. The air tastes like ass. Directly in front of him, Lance is staring at him, unshed tears welling up in his blue eyes.

"Shit. Lance, I-"

But he is stopped short when Lance covers his mouth again, this time with his good hand, and rapidly shakes his head back and forth. Keith tilts his head, perplexed, because something is… off.

He reaches out to him but Lance just keeps wobbling his head back and forth. Lance's lips move as if trying to explain, but nothing comes out.

"Lance," he attempts to speak through the other boy's fingers. "What-"

Lance pushes even harder onto Keith's mouth, his face pinched in guilt. His eyes dart to the side, then back to Keith, and for whatever reason, Keith understands to look that direction. So he does.

In the far distance, their lions are sitting there next to the water's edge, Blue on her haunches and Red sprawled on the ground. Blue has her shield up with a wide berth, big enough to protect herself and Red within it's protective walls. In front of them, poking at said barrier, are two giant, well-armored Galrans.

What the hell?

He rotates to sit on his knees to face Lance, who now has both of his hands rubbing tenderly at the base of his throat. Keith grabs Lance by the back of the head and shoves him lower to the ground. "Shh," he hisses harshly. "We need to move."

He expects an eye roll or maybe some smartass comment, but under his hand he can feel Lance nodding shakily. He grabs Lance by the good wrist to drag him to his feet, taking the lead and tugging Lance behind him through the trees for a good, long while and only stops once the Galrans and the lions are well out of sight.

Then he swings Lance around angrily to face him, overwhelmed with questions, but he stops short when Lance keeps his head bowed, shoulders shaking.

And it dawns on Keith that Lance, for whatever reason, is scared.

"What the hell is going on?"

But Lance doesn't look up at him. He holds his injured wrist to his chest, shoulders hunched forward and forcing the bag draped across his torso to slide to the front. He keeps silently shaking his head back and forth like it's all he can do.

Keith tries to soften, even though it doesn't come to him easily. It isn't like Lance to be so shaken to be on enemy territory. It isn't like Lance to crumple under the weight of danger. "We're safe now. Tell me what the hell you were trying to do?" Because none of this would be happening if Lance had just stayed put and went to sleep like a good soldier. Honestly, how does someone screw up going to bed? When he receives no answer, Keith grasps Lance by the shoulders and shakes him. "Lance."

Lance looks up at him finally, eyes wet and wide. He returns Keith's hold by grasping at his biceps and just like that, Keith's anger dissolves, because it hits him then just how tangible Lance's anxiety is. How Lance has been favoring his throat and having nothing to say even though he's has the opportunity to bicker or call the shots. How he has yet to utter a single sound this entire time, even after having his wrist injured.

"Lance," Keith says again, quiet this time. Soft. Careful. "Say something."

A beat passes. And then Lance sobs.


	6. Chapter 6

XXX

Physically reaching out to console someone as they break down is not something that comes naturally to Keith, but the idea isn't necessarily foreign, either. It isn't so much that he doesn't know how to comfort another human being in a moment of vulnerability, but rather he doesn't particularly know how to comfort someone like _Lance._

Lance, who seems able to connect with others with frustrating ease. Who feels things overwhelmingly with his heart but still somehow manages to think with his head. Who, even now, locks eyes with him as he cries big fat tears, unashamed to be seen as anything other than what he is in that moment.

But Keith just stands there, arms crossing over his chest in a way that makes him feel a little more shielded from the raw emotion pouring out before him, Lance crying mutely in a collection of wet gasps and shaken sighs that show no sign of slowing down. The noiselessness of it only seems to make Lance cry harder, which in turn elevates Keith's discomfort. It goes on like that for a few long, dragging minutes. Keith watches Lance hug himself in an attempt to pull himself together the way he always seems to do. Occasionally, between soft hiccups and inaudible whines, blue eyes flit up to look at him as if searching for something, but in Keith's mind he has nothing to give.

"Lance," he eventually breathes when he feels a little too much time has passed. Lance's eyes are on him, having never left, and Keith is unsettled that someone can be so comfortable holding someone's gaze for so long and with such intensity. Keith's jaw hangs open but the words don't come. What is he supposed to say?

Thankfully, Lance acts first.

His crying subdues a little and his eyes soften as he raises his good hand to press against Keith's chest, thin brows lifting in a silent question.

As if summoned, an ache returns to Keith's chest, a nagging discomfort when he breathes deeply. Keith is no idiot; waking up cold and wet with his chest on fire and coughing up water, coupled with a very distraught, near frantic Lance…

"You saved me," he acknowledges aloud. The tightened lip and minimal nod from Lance confirms it. Carefully, Keith takes Lance's wrist to slowly pry it away from his chest. "I… thanks for… thanks."

At that, Lance points to him, then to himself, followed by a firm thumbs up and a tired, mirthless smirk. Saving people is what they do.

"We need to get back to the others. Figure…" he pauses, then gestures to Lance bodily. "…all of _this_ out." And here is where the eye contact is hesitantly broken, and while Keith is no expert on all things Lance (nor does he have the desire to be), he is mindful of the obvious lack of agreement. He almost regrets asking, "Lance… _why_ did you come here?"

Immediately Lance opens his mouth but only a small puff of air comes out. He brushes his fingers against his throat, face knitted in total grief at the loss, but a steely determination flashes across his face as he reaches out to take Keith's hand.

Such unexpected contact from Lance startles him, so much so that he allows Lance to drag him through the trees. Keith says nothing at first because Lance is finally back to his resilient self and soon they can return to the castle and this nightmare will be over, but Lance actually _passes_ the lions, at which point Keith rips his arm free.

"Where are you going? The lions are right here," he whispers harshly, doubling back. Red is still prone on the ground behind Blue's barrier, which flickers under Keith's hands when he presses against it, but does not dissipate. Lance doesn't miss the way Keith hunches forward, his shoulders going rigid.

"Let down the barrier so we can leave," he growls, but the protective wall remains strong and unyielding, and Lance makes no attempt to make it otherwise.

The guilt Lance feels for not being able to give Keith what he wants is quickly nudged aside by a sensation of Blue pressing in the back of his mind, supportive and all-knowing. She refuses to put the barrier down because she knows her paladin has no desire to return home yet.

 _'Thanks, gorgeous,'_ he pushes back, thankful that at least that form of communication hasn't been taken from him.

If only he could speak to Keith the same way.

He jumps when Keith slams his fists against the shimmering blockade, and again when Keith spins around to glare hotly. An angry finger jabs at the bag still dangling around his torso and Lance finds himself instinctively clutching it closer to him.

Keith's lip twitches. "I hope you thought to bring a pen and paper in that damn thing so you can tell me what the hell is going on."

At that, Lance raises his hands in a placating manner, wishing desperately that he _had_.

A beat passes. Lance stares as Keith shakes his head as if to clear it, voice softening. "It isn't safe here. We need to go. We…" But Lance is shaking his head again, _needing_ Keith to understand, even without context. Keith is making that face, the one he makes when trying to understand things like how to partake in the Voltron team cheer, but can't. That unintentional disconnect. He finds himself wishing desperately that Shiro was here. Shiro wouldn't panic. Shiro would soldier on and find a way to make it work. _Shiro_ has that deep-rooted connection with Keith that Lance doesn't even dare try to emulate and it puts him at an unexpected disadvantage.

...Shiro is also better at reading people and isn't as quick to give into frustration. Shiro has a voice and Keith always listens to it.

Lance doesn't mean to give Keith such a pleading look but without a voice he supposes the expression is instinctual. Not that it matters, because Keith looks about ready to pop.

"Well? Do you?"

 _'What,'_ Lance mouths, taking a step back to mirror Keith's step forward. He sees Keith's eyes dart to the bag before glaring at him again. Oh. Right. The pen thing. He had been serious about that. Sometimes Lance has to remind himself what a literal person Keith is.

For a fleeting moment, it dawns on Lance that, while he and Keith work remarkably well in the heat of battle, there appears to be very little cohesiveness outside of that. But-he bites his lip, pushing the observation aside-there is no pen. He didn't prepare himself for this particular situation. But...

Quickly he rummages into the bag and pulls out the lone Plexia Crystal, still pulsing in loneliness. It's as good a starting point as any.

Keith's reaction does nothing to make him feel better, but he does notice the other boy's irritation fade into something more akin to exhaustion. He can practically hear Keith's brain replaying _patience yields focus_ over and over in his head to find a forced sense of calm. Once the crystal is in the open, Keith's entire demeanor changes.

 _"...where_ did you get that? And… why is it _glowing_?"

At his roots, Keith is risky and stupidly brave. A hot-headed but good soldier. If a chance comes up to get something important done, he takes it. This? This is important. _This_ is the thing that will put Voltron in Decibon's good favor again. This is what will make things _right_. This will prove that he isn't some sort of regrettable screwed-up mistake of a paladin, so Lance is counting on Keith to be all of those admirable, sometimes foolish things right now.

Keith hesitates before saying, "The rest are here."

 _Yes!_ Yes, yes, yes - Lance taps wildly at his nose to confirm, his excitement dwindling only when Keith narrows his eyes, his voice dangerously low.

"You're _sure_ ." It's a statement more than a question. Perhaps the guy is teachable after all. He runs his hand through his hair, a signal of exhaustion for Keith. "But, Lance, _how_ _?_ How could you possibly know that?"

Instead of trying to explain to Keith that the crystal is sentient enough to react to the absence of its counterparts, he stuffs the crystal back into his bag and instead starts dragging Keith by the arm through the trees, away from the lions. There is tension there, a very slight resistance as Keith is dragged the opposite direction he wants to be, but he does not pull away. At least, not until he sees the hover-bike come into view. The _Galra_ hover-bike.

Keith looks at him as though he's grown a second head, like he can't understand what Lance is implying they do with the unmanned, conveniently two-seated vehicle. An empty hover bike just means two already suspicious Galra are still wandering around out there, looking for them, and could be back any tick.

"Lance," Keith scolds, similar to the way Lance remembers being reprimanded as a child. But Lance proceeds to swing his leg over the bike, settling himself into the oversized seat and tapping the space behind him as an invitation.

Lance can see the gears turning in Keith's head. They both know that the Galra coming back to find their bike missing will just raise red flags or worse, an alarm, but ultimately it's a moot point. They've already seen their two very big, very not-subtle lions sitting on their turf - proof enough that there are a couple of paladins afoot.

With that logic, Lance can't help the shit-eating grin from blooming across his face. So he waits for Keith to come to terms, because risky, instinctual, act-in-the-moment Keith, at his core, is an opportunistic softie. No way he's going to let a chance like this slip by. Besides, he has no choice. Communications are down, Red is offline and Blue, the beautiful soul, is refusing to budge until her human does what he came here to do. Even now he can feel a brush of concern and protectiveness echoing in the back of his mind, but there is also a pridefulness there. Pure, unfiltered faith and an unconditional love that Lance never in a million years expected to be on the receiving end of. And the lions aren't going anywhere. No one is getting through that barrier.

There is a soft but audible growl from Keith and if Lance is honest, he's jealous of the sound.

"We aren't done talking -uhh, _I'm_ not done talk... We aren't done sorting through this. But let's get somewhere safe first," he grumbles, glancing back into the thick of the trees for any sign of the two hulking purple figures from earlier. Surely they'd be back soon when they didn't find the lion's pilots.

Lance pats the open seat behind him again with a wry grin, but Keith looks anything but amused.

"Move," he orders, stepping up to the bike and gripping one of the handlebars. He waves his free hand at Lance to encourage him to scoot back. "I'm driving."

To which Lance pouts but makes no attempt to move. No sympathy for the broken, apparently. In a very mature fashion, Lance shimmies up closer to the handlebars to claim control, which very noticeably frustrates the other boy.

"Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?"

For whatever reason, that single statement has Lance faltering, enough so that Keith seizes the opportunity to throw a leg over regardless of the lack of space, wedging it between Lance and the controls, shoving him back with bodyweight alone. Lance instinctively latches onto Keith's waist to keep from falling off entirely, not missing the way Keith tenses under the unexpected touch.

But, albeit hesitantly, Keith revs up the motor and says, "Hold on."

Lance does, pressing his chest against Keith for stability because he's _seen_ the way Keith drives and it seems wise to latch onto every anchor point he can. _Shut up and trust me_ comes to mind and Lance smiles secretly and fondly at the memory, only to frown a moment later when he is reminded how right now, Keith doesn't even have a reason to _tell_ him to shut up.

He just needs to focus on the task at hand. Do what he set out to do, even if Keith stumbled into the picture. If everything works out, Lance doesn't even mind sharing the glory, as long as it _does_ work out.

The turf beneath them bursts into dust, motor humming uncomfortably loud even though Lance knows it doesn't matter. In a perfect scenario, they'll be in and out and back to the others in no time anyway. The crystals will be restored, Decibon will be free to move about the galaxy and Allura's alliance can happen without reservations, and then maybe Unma can-

"There they are!"

The words are barely out of the Galran's mouth before Keith reacts to it.

Lance's stomach rolls with how fast they are jetted into the air. His hands go from Keith's waist to wrap around him fully, hands clasping at his own forearms lock himself into place. He closes his eyes and buries his head into the tangles that are Keith's mullet until the dizziness stops.

He hears Keith curse and that is when he opens his eyes. They are in the open sky now; Lance can see small lakes scattered in the distance, as well as some barren land that looks to be uninhabited. Directly ahead, however, looks to be the makings of a small settlement or the start of a city. At a glance, it appears to be the only sign of life for miles. In the dimming sky, the lights gleam purple.

A gasp comes from Keith as white hot beams shoot past them, pelting the underside of the commandeered bike. Clearly the two sentries below are not happy to see their property stolen.

It becomes rapid fire then, just as Keith cranks the gear and shifts them into a speed so fast and so sudden, Lance does not want to think about what would happen had he not been holding onto Keith so tight.

Shots follow them even as the shouting grows distant. Lance begins to relax, feeling they are essentially in the clear, and dares to turn around to look.

The laser beam coming straight at them gives him little time to think. His grip on Keith tightens, pulling a soft ' _oouf'_ from the other boy, and straddles the bike as tight as he can with his legs. He cannot warn Keith, not without a voice, but even then it might not be enough of a warning. So he throws his weight to one side, grip on Keith so tight it hurts, and _hopes_.

A piercing hot sting flares across his calf, and the hover bike completes two full rotations before Keith, very much also not dead, regains control of it. Keith pushes the vehicle to its max, distancing themselves from the danger, and it is only after he feels Keith relax under his hold that he does, too.

It is silence then as Keith focuses his sights on the structure ahead, flying fast through the air but skimming low and along the tops of the woodlands so as not to be too obvious. A glance behind reveals a trail a smoke billowing out of the engine. Lance can feel a rumbling underneath him, their mode of transportation struggling to function. Looks like they got a few good hits in. Damn.

A strange sensation slides across his torso then, and it is only after Pidge's satchel slips from his side and plummets to the ground that Lance realizes the strap has been severed, likely hit by a stray shot.

He makes a grab for it without thinking, the way he's done once in the kitchen when Hunk lost his grip on a piping hot metal pan, simply reacting to the moment only to be burned a moment later. He misses, hand snatching around empty air, but the momentum is clearly something Keith isn't expecting. It throws them off-balance and Lance, no longer secured to Keith for stability, topples sideways.

"Wha- _Lance!"_

Gravity yanks him downwards but his fingers manage to catch the side panel near Keith's foot. The sudden shift in weight only tilts the bike further, enough to clip the top of the forest, throwing them into a pinwheel before Keith can even try to redirect them.

Lance closes his eyes as the impact violently rips him away from the bike. Branches smack against him bodily, tossing him around and knocking the wind clean out of him before he hits the forest floor with a heavy _thump_. A second later he hears the whine of metal as the bike is battered amongst the trees before it explodes, shrouding him in an intense heat. Amidst the pain, he tries to scream Keith's name, but nothing comes out.

XXX

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hey, so, I'm nervous to post this chapter? Lol, I had a REALLY hard time with this chapter and if I'm honest, I really had to force it (only because I want to get to the meat of things but I had to set things up first). Apologies for the short length, especially after you've all been waiting so patiently. I actually took a good chunk OUT of this chapter. My eyes are BURNING from looking over this chapter so please, if you do see errors/mistakes, kindly let me know! Also for some reason, ffnet messes with my formatting and puts spaces in weird spots?

Anyway if you're still turning up for this, thank you! If I could hug you all, I would - and I'm told I give amazing hugs.

Don't worry, we will be addressing Lance's muteness soon!

I'm not necessarily in the fanfiction game for the comments, but they DO help a girl want to get things done, if you know what I mean.


	7. Chapter 7

Keith doesn't get the chance to reach out and grab Lance before the bike bucks him into the air. He loses sight of both the bike and Lance as they are swallowed up by the forest and hears the explosion as he smacks into a web of branches that snap under his weight. The painful onslaught does, however, slow his descent enough for him to wrap his arms and legs fully around a sturdy trunk. The sudden stop in motion bashes his head against the decaying wood, making his vision go temporarily white.

From his perch, Keith sees the bike down below is bent into an unsalvageable heap of burning metal, the growing fire sending a line of smoke into the air like a giant, billowing beacon straight to their location. He glares at the flames, equally hot; they'll have to move fast and get out of the area before someone comes to investigate. If only Lance hadn't flailed around like some damn-

"Lance?" He hears the crackle of the fire and nothing else, but Lance can't exactly call out for help either if he's stuck or hurt. Keith has no time to panic, but his heart quickens at the notion. " _Lance!?"_

He drops from the tree, joints jarred with the landing and nearly causing him to fold to his knees. But he stands, scanning his surroundings and heading the direction he thinks they came from. Lance fell off just before he lost control, so it makes sense he landed a ways back.

True to logic, Keith sees disturbances in the dirt and soil not too far off, something not natural nor wildlife (or whatever constitutes as wildlife on this planet), a fresh divot in the ground from some sort of impact that Keith can only assume was Lance's body.

But the turf turns into a sloppy path, like something had been dragged through. Or pulled, if the sparse cavities in the soil are anything to go by. If he looks close enough, Keith can make out the outline of fingers where Lance dug in to pull himself forward. Keith follows it, not blind to the darker stains smearing along the dirt. It isn't much, but Lance is definitely bleeding.

His heart settles into a regular pattern now that it knows Lance is at least alive, but still he carries a sense of unease as he follows the trail. Then he sees him, a speck of white amongst the dead forest where the trail ends.

Keith runs to him, dropping down to put a hand on Lance's shoulder and carefully rolling the other boy onto his back. Tired, blue eyes peel open to stare at him.

"Where are you hurt," Keith asks, even as his eyes fall onto the torn fabric along Lance's left leg. It doesn't look deep enough to be dangerous, but ignored, could turn into something more. Walking will likely be uncomfortable, Keith admits, but they'll make do.

Lance blinks lazily past him, dragging his right arm up to point up at the sky.

 _What?_ Keith cranes his neck to follow the invisible line.

Caught in the branches directly overhead is Lance's bag.

Lance's stupid bag that Lance prioritized so much that he caused them to crash, not only losing their mode of transportation, but leaving Keith himself feeling an ache through his entire body and Lance sliding around on the ground like a wounded animal. "Forget that right now. Other than your leg, where else are you hurt?"

After a moment's hesitation, Lance hugs his left arm closer to himself, favoring it. Once his attention is drawn to it, Keith can see the wrist looks slightly swollen. Same wrist he twisted earlier when Lance had been simply trying to wake him up.

A twinge of guilt stirs within him for that one, andLance points down with his good hand, towards his feet. Lance rotates his left foot and wiggles his toes, while his right foot twitches and nothing else.

"Right foot," Keith comments for affirmation, and Lance brings his hand to his own face to tap the tip of his nose. _Yep_.

He makes to touch the supposedly injured foot but Lance gasps and sits upright before he can get close enough, eyes wide.

"I'm just going to look at it, idiot," he sighs with no trace of heat. "Just let me."

With the lightest touch he can manage, Keith runs his hand from Lance's knee and down his shin (careful to avoid the wound) to his ankle, where Lance's entire body goes stiff in anticipation. Appearance-wise it looks fine, if maybe a little tender. He looks to Lance for any kind of indication.

He's holding up his good hand, a peace sign but upside-down to look like a person. He holds it in the air and then lets it drop slowly. It lands on his dented chest plate (which probably played a vital part in Lance not dying in the crash, but Keith shuts that thought down), where one of the finger-legs folds in on itself on the landing, accompanied by a grimace on Lance's face.

"You… tripped and fell?" Keith guesses. Lance repeats the motion, faster this time, then forms a fist, rotating it once in the air. Points to his foot. _Oh._ "Rolled your ankle on the landing."

Finger to nose. _Yeah._

"Good."

Over-the-top frown.

Has Lance always been this animated..?

"I mean it could have been worse," Keith explains tiredly. He didn't sign up to be Lance's babysitter. For a mission he only understood a fraction of. He should have stayed in his room on the castle. Should have never chased after Blue's roar.

But where would that leave Lance?

Keith shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts before they could fully form.

"We need to put distance between ourselves and the smoke. Can you stand?"

A grim nod, followed by an outstretched arm, which Keith allows to hang around his shoulders. Lance's lankiness is hard to support at first, but he manages to get them both to their feet, where Lance tenderly tests his weight on his bad ankle.

Keith moves forward but is met with resistance. Lance pulls back, even with tender footing. Any hope that Lance may have forgotten the bag in the trees is lost when Lance points up at it again. And while Keith knows he has enough control and strength to physically force Lance to move on without it, somehow he knows (as soon as Lance gets his voice back) he'll never hear the end of it.

It's just enough to make him hesitate.

Shiro comes to mind, as he often does when Keith struggles to be like him. Shiro tells him often to practice empathy. Things he may not value can be valuable to other people, thus making it valuable. Or… _something_ like that.

Next to him, Lance's lips are moving, mouthing his name. The name never comes out, of course, but Lance tries, and Keith can hear the faint click of the _K._ Air filtering through teeth for the _th_.

 _Kth._

Fractured pieces of his name.

 _Kth._

Subdued. Gentle. The faintest of whispers but somehow even less than that.

It is the softest Keith has ever heard Lance.

For _whatever reason_ , that pathetic wisp of sound from Lance, accompanied by his pleading eyes, has him dropping Lance's arm and pulling out his knife - always on his person because trust issues have kept him alive so far.

With it firmly gripped in his hand, he stabs deep into the bark of the tree with a satisfying _thunk_. Then he begins to climb.

It isn't terribly far up, maybe three times his own height. He reaches the branch easily enough, but even with his own upper body strength and his blade as an anchor point, his body flags. Apparently climbing trees shortly after a crash is not something his body enjoys doing.

But he reaches the stupid branch with Lance's stupid bag, and when he looks down, Lance's stupid face is watching him. Stupidly.

The bag hangs loosely by one of the outside pockets, the strap itself having been split. Singed, frayed edges leads Keith to the conclusion that it was hit by a stray laser beam, meaning it probably got pretty close to Lance as well.

Certain the branch will break under him should he try to shimmy onto it, he uses his weight to shake it instead. The bag dislodges with little issue, falling straight down and into Lance's waiting arms.

Keith drops down as well, stumbling slightly on the landing and carefully wiping his knife clean with his palm before sliding it back into place. He says nothing as he approaches Lance, who has already tied the severed strap together in a tight knot and has it looped over his torso. He takes Lance's shoulders and spins him 90 degrees. Sure enough, there is a tear in the black fabric of his flight suit, on his side. The skin is angry and irritated but otherwise intact. Could have been much, _much_ worse.

He inserts himself under Lance's good arm and moves. More than anything he just wants to get away from the area to _think._

As expected, Lance is unstable at first, trying to best find a way to compensate for new aches and pains. He's wobbly but moving, so Keith takes the victory. Still, he carries a bulk of the weight but to his credit, Lance gives it his all to keep a steady pace. Once or twice, Keith dares to go a little faster.

They carry on like that in silence, Lance unable to comment and Keith having nothing to say. Kind of nice, Lance not being able to fill the air with mindless or provoking chatter. Not that it stops Keith from imagining what Lance would say if he could, like his voice is still there regardless. Little echoes of what he's become familiar with.

Eventually, the woods thin out in quantity, but the trees get larger, like the high rise buildings of bigger cities. Their towering size is humbling, in a way; even the roots twist and create large, intricate structures along the ground large enough to take shelter in.

Perfect.

"We're stopping," he announces, feeling Lance grow a little heavier at the declaration. Keith takes them under the shade of roots twisted in an arc, forming a shallow cave-like refuge. Small mercies.

He unlinks himself from Lance and lowers him to the ground into a sitting position. He'll have to look at Lance's injuries, he knows, but starts running hands along his own limbs to assess himself first. His chest still aches; smacking bodily into a tree hadn't helped. Other than feeling sore, he doesn't think he has much to worry about. But even if he did, he has no idea what he would use for medical supplies, not unless Lance had the foresight to put something useful in that seemingly irreplaceable bag of his.

Speaking of…

When he looks over, Lance is digging through some of the rocks scattered around the forest floor, tossing some aside while others got stuffed into said bag.

Is he… collecting rocks?

A new breed of irritation finds its way through his veins and before he can stop himself, Keith stalks over and rips the bag clean out of Lance's hands. "You almost got us _killed_ for this thing, Lance."

Keith then flips the bag upside-down, pouring out its contents.

The stones Lance had been hoarding moments before tumble across the dirt, along with some other rocks of a different look and texture, similar to Decibon's topography. In addition to Lance's rock collection, an unopened bottle of wine falls out and rolls to Lance's feet.

Lance snatches the bottle by the neck and hugs it to himself before Keith can react, wide eyes waiting for the reaction.

"You… made me climb a tree for wine? And _rocks?"_

Frustratingly, Lance isn't meeting his eyes. Frustrating because holding someone's gaze seems to be something Lance excels in and yet here he is looking at the bottle in his hands instead, scratching tenderly at a small fracture in the glass with his fingernail.

On that note, Keith tries to remind himself that this is Lance, and Lance doesn't risk his life for things that he doesn't feel are important. Time together has shown Lance to be a valuable strategist, someone very aware of his surroundings in a crisis. A tactician. A team player.

Taking all of that into consideration, there is little reason to believe that Lance has lost his senses _now_.

It is extremely rare for Keith to want to know the things going on in Lance's head, but it figures that when he finally does, Lance can't tell him.

XXX

Keith being irritated at him is nothing out of the ordinary, to the point where Lance finds a strange comfort in its normalcy. Sometimes, living in space and fighting a space war and protecting space aliens is exhausting, so having something predictable keeps his grounded, even while floating miles and miles away from the warm waters and sandy beaches of Earth. Somewhere, in the far recesses of his mind, Lance wonders if that is why antagonizing Keith comes so easy to him.

But here and now, not being able to verbally counter, it becomes… difficult to hear Keith's accusations. The rightful blame in his voice. Lance cannot lash out or explain his actions or defend his character by attacking Keith's. He doesn't know how to stop this horrible feeling in his gut from expanding. Because Keith isn't even supposed to be here in the first place, angry and hurt and cleaning up his messes, confused because he simply _doesn't understand._ But - Lance winces - that isn't Keith's fault. It's _his_.

He is the one who snuck off in the middle of the night with some self indulgent redemption quest without a plan other than _listen to the rock_. He is the one who hadn't even tried to lower Blue's walls for Keith's sake because he can't risk Keith telling the others what a failure he is. Him, who insisted they steal Galra property and then stupidly tried to rescue a bottle and some rocks when they were in the clear. It is because of him they suffered a potentially fatal crash.

Lance grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, hugging the bottle closer to himself but it does not offer any comfort. He is selfish and idiotic and swiftly messing up this rare chance to prove he's the opposite of all of those things. Draxis trusted him with one task and he can't even-

"Well?"

His attention is snapped back to Keith, who is still rightfully scolding him and craving _some_ sort of reaction, verbal or not. Lance doesn't know what to do to make him feel better, but he is glaring daggers at the bottle so it makes sense to start there.

When he was nine, his grandpapa let him drink a glass of wine. He absolutely _hated_ it and never asked for a sip again at family celebrations. It wasn't until two full years later he discovered that it had actually been pomegranate juice he'd been given, and he just hated the tartness. To this day, anything tart brings the memory fondly to the forefront. Nothing like the sweet wine in his hands now, yet somehow he thinks of it. Misses it. Those little moments that felt big in his heart.

With his teeth he pulls at the already frayed fabric around his hand, revealing the flesh of his fingers. He holds his pinky up high for Keith to see. It is still a light shade of purple from dipping it into the wine from the feast.

"Lance…"

The cork flies off with a _pop_ and as a passing thought Lance hopes Keith doesn't think so lowly of him as to think he'd be pouring a drink at a time like this. Quickly, before Keith can interrupt, Lance gathers a bunch of the scattered stones closer to him.

Then he flips the bottle and dumps the wine all over them. Keith says nothing as he watches Lance empty the entire thing, covering every visible stone within reach.

He then takes a random stone in one hand and the Plexia Crystal in the other, and holds them side by side. At first glance, the shape and color is similar enough, the only real difference being the actual crystal's luminosity. It's _close enough_ , though, to pass as the real thing in a pinch. A decoy to buy time, should they need it.

He stares into Keith's eyes and _waits_. If Keith doesn't get it now, they really do have a lot of work to do.

Keith must see it, though, his expression turning to something more calculating. In all honesty, Lance can't control the grin that stretches across his face.

Only for it to fall into a frown when Keith crosses his arms the way he does, with his face drawn tight in thought. He's going to get all sorts of wrinkles if he keeps scowling like that.

"Okay, fine, that actually isn't the worst idea you've ever had," he finally relents. "Not worth getting us killed over, but... clever."

Amidst the compliment, Lance feels the sting of blame but he brushes it off when Keith squats down next to him to start putting the now-stained rocks back into the bag, pointedly avoiding eye contact as he does so. He watches Keith put the Plexia Crystal in last, carefully, before sealing the bag.

Then he jumps when fingers brush against his side, probing at the tear in his suit. It's tender and irritated, but Keith's fingers come away dry so at least isn't bleeding out? Truthfully, Lance doesn't quite remember getting hit, but then again a lot had been happening. Keith almost got _shot in the back of the head._

"Hold still," Keith says, and Lance listens. There's a foreign comfort in the sound of Keith's voice. Lance clings to it. Perhaps any voice at this point would give him solace; growing up in a big, lively family had made noise commonplace. Someone was always talking, there was always something to be said, there was always someone to listen to, someone could always use his help or his company.

The quiet scares him, sometimes.

A hiss escapes him as Keith starts brushing away some of the dirt and grime collecting at the cut on his leg. Maybe he should have saved some of the wine for a nice purple salve to wash the wound? Hindsight, and all that.

"I'll be right back." Keith turns to leave, _just like that_ , stops, turns back and says as an afterthought, "Don't go anywhere."

Jaw slack, unable to argue, Lance stares. _Please_ , as if he's going to just get up and wander off behind Keith's back.

Well, technically, he'd done just that just a few varga ago, landing them both in this situation. So, okay. Not exactly unfounded.

So Lance sits. And _sits_. Sits and fidgets, fidgets and sits, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the prolonged silence and having nothing to pierce it with. He listens to his own breathing, counting seconds in his head and then ticks. Ticks or seconds, Keith ends up being gone for what feels like a lot of them, so Lance pushes himself to stand, reprimanding himself for not just following Keith in the first place. They should stick together.

The sting of his leg is ignored as he stumbles forward. He has a job to do. A mission that now includes keeping Keith in one piece. And while he's grateful for the help, Lance isn't ready to just hand over the reins.

"What are you doing? I said I'd be right back," Keith's voice startles him. He's making faces again and has a bundle of strange looking plants in his arms. "Sit down."

Lance flops down harder than intended, Keith kneeling down next to him and dumping the plants on the ground. Then he reveals his knife, which is covered in something clear and sticky. It shimmers even in the dim light, and Keith doesn't even offer a warning as he presses the coated, flat edge of the blade against Lance's leg.

Always a little wary of Keith's knife, and even more so now that it is _touching_ him, Lance stiffens but does not pull away. Keith doesn't do things just to do them; it is safe to assume there is rhyme and reason to this. Besides, whatever Keith is smearing onto his wound feels nice. A little gross, but cool and soothing.

After a moment Keith retracts the knife and brings over one of the long, leafy strips he pilfered from the forest. Without a word, he begins to wrap it around Lance's leg, long enough to do so twice. The plant life here is sturdy and thick; Keith secures the wrap with a well-made knot to keep it in place.

Lance touches the handiwork when it's done, then meets Keith's eyes questioningly.

"Pine sap," he says. "Or at least, some sap from some tree." He takes the knife again and moves to apply more to the graze on Lance's size. The metal makes Lance shiver but he allows it, trusting. "It's a natural antiseptic," he goes on to explain, unprompted. He takes a longer leaf and swathes it around Lance's torso, placing the securing knot just over the wound. "Better than nothing, anyway."

They didn't teach survivalist type care at the Garrison, or rather, Lance got ejected into space via the Blue Lion before he got that far. Keith started a year before him. Is that where he learned it?

He waves his hand in Keith's peripheral to gain his attention and points to the sap-covered blade, followed by a shrug. After a short hesitation, Keith explains, "Out in the desert, I didn't have much in the way of supplies other than what I could find out in the middle of nowhere. Had access to plenty of Prickly Pear Cacti. The insides can be used as an antiseptic, but… no cacti out here, though. Pine tree sap is supposed to be similar."

In the back of his mind, Lance's mind plays out the image. Keith, hurting himself by some act of brave stupidity and needing to take care of himself because no one else was there to do it for him. He can easily see Keith splitting open the pad of a cactus to utilize the insides because that's what smart, resourceful, independent people do. Survivalists like Keith always find a way.

And, much to Lance's surprise and oddly enough, comfort, it's actually kind of _nice_ to hear something about Keith like that, and at the same time… sad? Keith struggles to connect fully with the people he lives with on a castleship in space. He can't imagine how lonely he must have felt _actually_ being alone and secluded, relying only on himself and with no one to talk to.

"I used to camp a lot," Keith tacks on randomly, as an afterthought. "It was… therapeutic."

Lance finds himself leaning slightly forward, wide-eyed and intrigued. Such an oddity for Keith to tell him personal things all his own, but then again, Keith probably isn't used to being in his company for this long and having said nothing. Lance is grateful.

Camping feels like a very Keith-like hobby. It's something Lance has always wanted to do himself but never tried outside of camping in his own backyard or in the family room at home (he wonders if Keith would enjoy blanket forts). It raises even more questions; does Keith know how to hunt as well? Build a tent from scratch? Make a fire?

Lance reaches out and grabs the nearest stick within reach and sandwiches it between his palms. He then rubs them back and forth, drilling the stick into the ground to imitate trying to start a fire, brows raised curiously.

Unless he's going crazy, Lance swears he sees the tiniest smirk on Keith's face, followed by a slightly affronted nod. "Of course I do."

Eyes lighting up, Lance mimes casting a line and reeling it back in, followed by a flat hand moving forward in the air and wiggling.

Keith hesitates. "...fishing too, yeah."

A thumbs up then, brows raised with a slight nod.

"Good job?"

It takes Lance a moment before he shakes his head and tries again, pointing to Keith and _then_ a thumbs up.

" _Oh._ I was pretty good, I guess."

 _Of course_ , that was a stupid question. Keith is good at everything he tries.

Lance smiles, then puts a fist to his chin in thought, trying to come up with questions and wondering what kind of things Keith would be good at outside of fighting bad guys and flying ships. Meanwhile, Keith pokes at the knots securing Lance's leaf-bandages to make sure they'll stick. He drags the bag over to him and dumps the remaining leaves into it, apparently expecting to need them later. Then he says, out of _nowhere_ , "...what about… what about you?"

Something pulls the air out of his lungs and Lance makes an audible gasp to suck it back in. Is Keith… actually making an attempt at small talk? Whether he's just trying to be nice or fill in the quiet, Keith hardly if ever is proactive about learning about Lance's hobbies.

When Lance doesn't move at first, Keith tries again, a little louder. "You know, before all this. Before Voltron?"

He thinks, mind floating back to the Space Mall they visited not too long ago and the beautiful guitar he brought home. Music would be nice right about now, to comfort both of them and fill in the void without having to actually speak. Just connecting through mutual appreciation for music.

Unsure if Keith is familiar with anything musical, Lance pretends to hold a guitar, imagining the one he has at home, the one given to him by his grandpapa, all faded wood and memories. His fingers move with ease, imaginary plucks at perfectly tuned strings.

"You play guitar?" Keith sounds unbelieving.

He looks to Keith sadly and makes one more mimed strum of the guitar, then taps the base of his throat, right between the dip of his collarbone. The fingers slide up his neck to his chin, mouth open as if expelling his fingers from his mouth and into the air. Like sound.

At that, Keith actually raises a brow. "..You sing? Too? You can sing?"

 _Be proud_ , his mama would tell him, and he is. He beams brightly, but it dampens when he sees Keith doesn't mirror the same joy. Instead, he sees a deep determination as Keith sits cross-legged, deep amethyst eyes boring into his own with a scrutiny he isn't prepared for.

"Lance," he says in a tone that is much too serious too fast. "We need to talk about what happened to your voice. And why you… how you…" he audibly growls as though frustrated with himself. "I'm trying to be understanding, but it's hard."

Lance resists the urge to mock the idea of 'talking about it' when he can do no such thing and instead grabs for the stick he pretended to make a fire with from earlier. Not a pen, but it'll do.

In the dirt he writes the word ' _redeem'_ and the an arrow pointing to himself.

He wallows in the short-lived sadness he's created for himself before Keith breaks it.

"Redeem? Redeem what? You do understand that you didn't do anything wrong back on Decibon," Keith half scowls at him, face tight. "Whatever you're doing here, you should have come to us. We could have come up with a _plan."_

It's difficult not to laugh at that, and Lance might have if he had the ability to. Because Keith is the irrational, impulsive one, running into things without thinking them through. And now here he is telling Lance to not do that very same thing.

Besides, he _has_ a plan. Sort of.

He drew three angry, frowny faces, followed by three arrows that also pointed towards himself.

"You are… mad. Really mad."

No, no. Lance slices the air with his hand, _no_. He points to the distance, in a random direction because he has no idea where Decibon actually is. Then he crosses his arms and scowls deeply, then relaxes and points to himself.

"You're mad _at_ yourself," Keith tries again, and Lance shakes his head no, even though it isn't entirely inaccurate. "The Decibonians, then? You helped them, why would they be mad at you?"

But Lance just stares, unsure how to make Keith (Keith, who rose to the top at the Garrison without breaking a sweat. Who fought some of the highest levels in the training room and it _shows_ on the battlefield. Who follows his gut and doesn't even care of a bunch of strangers think less of him for it) understand why it matters so much to him. If he's honest, Lance isn't so sure himself. He doesn't want to be known as the paladin who isn't up to par with the rest of them. It isn't just for them. It's for… himself.

Thick, dark locks sway in front of Keith's eyes as he shakes the question away, his focus shifting. He leans forward, tipping his head towards the bag. "And the crystal?"

Grabbing the bag, Lance takes out a handful of wine-stained rocks and puts them in a pile to his left. Then pulls out the crystal, which is glowing a little brighter than he remembers. Keith seems to see it too.

He sets the Plexia Crystal next to the rock pile and, with his hands, imitates a burst of light. Then he scoots the crystal away from the pile and makes a much less impressive gesture; duller. Near the pile of rocks. Big gesture. Away from rocks. Little gesture. Repeat.

"Sooo, like a crystal... finder."

Suddenly excited, Lance taps rapidly at his nose - _yes!_

"But _Lance_." And here, Keith closes his eyes and rubs at his temples. He looks so tired. "Where? _How?"_

With thinned lips, Lance pushes the stick into the dirt and starts drawing. He's not the greatest artist. A bit of a crude style, really, but he tries to capture Draxis' features, with his glaring expression and his long robes. His big dangly earlobes.

But Keith is scrunching his face again.

"What is _that_ supposed to be?"

Lance forces a mean expression and uses his right hand as a puppet, flapping the mouth. With his left, he points to the right, scolding it for talking. The recognition flashes across Keith's face.

"...Draxis?"

Finger to nose.

Keith goes deadpan. "You couldn't just write his name?"

Lance snaps the stick in two and tosses the pieces over his shoulder. _You're no fun_ , he thinks, glaring, wishing he'd written it in the dirt instead so Keith _knows_.

"And Draxis just… _gave_ it to you and sent you on a random, dangerous quest all by yourself? Instead of sending Voltron? And… _none_ of this seems off to you."

 _Well it does_ _ **now**_ _,_ Lance wants to say, but he just frowns instead. It was probably a bad decision, yes, yet Lance knows he would do it again. Because a lot of his life is spent looking for chances, and Draxis presented him with one.

The thought has Lance clenching his fists, causing a twinge to shoot up his arm from his left wrist. He must have made a face or moved weird or something, because Keith notices too.

"Possible contusion, definite bruising" Keith says clinically, scooting closer and grabbing his wrist as gently as he is able. Just like that, the conversation is dismissed. Lance doesn't try to bring it back. "We don't have anything to use as a cold compress but we can still wrap it." He is already moving to do so and Lance watches with a strange detachment. Had Keith purposefully changed the subject so as not to make him feel bad..?

Once wrapped, Keith guides Lance's arm straight up and instructs him to keep it elevated.

' _Kth,'_ Lance breathes, and it's quiet enough in their little hidey-hole now that Keith actually hears him, dragging amethyst eyes to meet his. He mouths a _thank you_ and based on Keith's expression, he has no problem understanding.

XXX

* * *

 **A/N:** _Kth._ Admit it, after reading that, you all tried it for yourselves, am I right? Yes, you do not need your vocal chords to make those sounds. _Of course_ Lance will find a way to say Keith's name without actually being able to say it. For some reason this is adorable to me so now you all have to experience it as well.

Yes, this was not a very exciting chapter, and I'm sorry not to end things on a very exciting note, but I wanted to give the boys their solace while able. And, Lance gets to learn a little more about Keith. Awe!

Since I am so slow with updates, I will tell you the next chapter we come up with a plan of action and see how smoothly we can execute said plan!


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n:** just going to post this because no matter how much I work on it I'm unhappy with it. But we need to get this thing moving!

* * *

xxx

Keith taps his nose. "This means what it always has. This is okay," he says, giving a thumbs up. Then he flips it over for a thumbs down. "And… not okay."

No points for creativity but Lance allows it, nodding. Very direct and straightforward, just like Keith.

There's a pause where Keith's brows crinkle low in thought, the way they do. He looks doubtful when he poses the question, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the layout, would you?"

To which Lance shakes his head no, because, that would be too easy. Obviously. Lance mourns not having Pidge with them then, to pluck schematics from seemingly nowhere and feed them exactly where to go for an even faster grab-and-go but they'll manage. They always manage.

Keith's cheeks puff out, then expels air like a busted pipe. He deflates a little, disappointed. Lance knows it isn't at him directly, but he feels the twinge of guilt anyway. "Didn't think so. We should avoid splitting up, and if we come across any foot soldiers we can just steal their armor to avoid… _what,_ Lance?"

Because Lance is giving a very enthusiastic thumbs down. Not okay.

Why does Keith insist on engaging in unnecessary confrontation?

So he shows a more subtle, _safer_ way by walking his fingers in one direction and then the other. In and out.

The simplicity does not seem to impress Keith in the slightest. Lance pretty much expects the idea to be turned down but is surprised by the gentle way in which Keith dismisses it, expression kind. "I'd love that, Lance, but we have to take these things into consideration. A disguise can give us an advantage if we're seen."

Every part of Lance wants to protest in spite of the sound logic. His lips even fumble as if to try, because a plan like that requires contact. Fighting. Risk. He understands, but hopes it won't come to that.

Keith is flexing his fingers with a subdued rage that softens when he lifts his eyes to meet Lance's. For a passing moment, Lance's thoughts feel vulnerable, as though Keith can read every frazzled piece. "Just don't leave my sight. We stick together, no matter what."

The conviction in his voice is so sober that Lance almost misses a beat. But he eventually falls into a half-smirk, dragging a finger over his chest, left then right, drawing an X. To his surprise and awe, Keith actually mirrors the gesture with a firm nod and says, "Cross my heart."

Then they rest in silence by Keith's suggestion. Lance doesn't remember falling asleep but at some point his eyes open to the sight of Keith's silhouette standing guard at the mouth of the enclosure. It's darker outside than he remembers, but the sky is speckled with enough stars to cast a dim outline to Keith's body in a way that makes him look like a damn superhero.

His bag sits next to him, stuffed with rocks, a crystal and an empty bottle. Lance slings it around his torso and pushes against the wall to stand.

"How are you feeling," Keith asks, not even looking. Must have heard him shambling.

Lance considers it, perhaps a little too seriously. He's unsure of himself. Confident that Hunk and Pidge's combined brain power will find a way to keep Decibon safe if they don't come back. He's homesick - like _home_ homesick. He feels adrenaline and determination. Afraid of failure.

But Lance doesn't quite know how to convey all of those things so he just gives a thumbs up instead.

"If you're up for it, we should get going."

Lance nods. They've wasted enough time here.

As they creep closer to the rocky exterior of the main facility, Lance finds every sound has him skittish, every corner harboring a shadow waiting to get the jump on them

The closer they creep to the rocky exterior of the facility, the less viable his in-and-out tactic feels. Every little sound makes him skittish and thinking every shadow is going to get the jump on them. What if they actually have to engage in combat and-

Stop. Just stop.

Focus on something else. Focus on the surroundings.

It's a mix of nature and man-made; technology has been forced into the hollowed innards of what used to be natural topical caves. The dull lighting is both romantically cozy and frighteningly ominous. Honestly, Lance lost his love for the color purple long ago.

No guards so far, Lance notes. He wonders how often a place like this even deals with intruders. Keith seems to be thinking the same thing as he presses against the stone wall, hesitating before taking the next turn.

"Don't let your guard down," he whispers. Lance doesn't need to be told twice. He doesn't need to be told once.

His mind travels back to the stolen hoverbike and the two Galra they enraged in the first thirty dobashes on this planet. Are they still trekking their way back? Did they already send out a warning that there are two Paladins of Voltron running around? Suddenly the the caverns feel claustrophobic.

Keith hesitates his next step. Looks back at Lance, more serious than before, if that's possible. "Be. Careful."

Lance jabs a finger into Keith's arm, silently pushing the same warning back at him.

Instead of a verbal confirmation, Keith reaches back and grasps tightly at Lance's hand. He doesn't let go but pulls him along slowly and Lance doesn't resist, finding comfort in the contact. The physical tether keeps them close and should he need Keith's immediate attention, he only needs to give a quick tug.

Things begin to feel like an impossible maze when Lance loses track of which way they came from. He wishes again that they had Pidge with them but then remembers why they're there and quickly retracts it. The only thing he knows for sure is that they're getting deeper and deeper into the belly of the entire structure, and according to every comic book, movie plot and fictional book he's ever come across, that's exactly where people place things worth protecting. Good ol' bad guy logic.

It's also quiet and empty, which does nothing for his unease.

If Keith is lost or confused, he does a brilliant job of not showing it. At least until the cave splits into four different directions. He tugs at Lance's hand to pull him closer and digs into the bag to pull out the crystal.

It's already pulsing; perhaps it has been this entire time. It's a good as anything to go off of.

Keith holds it out in front of him and swings his arm in every direction, well aware of the shadows being cast, dancing along the cave walls.

"We need to go down," Keith announces after a moment, about the same time Lance thinks it.

The Plexia crystal goes back into the bag before the light gives them away, plunging them back into darkness. Keith's hand finds his again, and they proceed through the far left entryway, where the ground falls into a steep downward slope.

Said slope morphs into poorly carved stone steps that go down for what feels like forever but they eventually even out, leading them to a massively open space reminding Lance of a bonafide Batcave. At the far end is a massive door, too big and too obvious to not be what they're looking for.

The lack of opposition should make Lance feel hopeful but instead he feels an overwhelming sense of dread. It's too good to be true. It's way too surreal for there to be _no one_ standing in their way. For not a single alarm to be tripped.

Still, Lance runs to it, now the one pulling at Keith because they crossed their hearts that they would stick together. The panel sitting just next to the over-sized doors flashes symbols that he doesn't know how to read, but if it's anything like other Galra-Tech he's dealt with in the past, it's nothing a little Galra DNA can't solve.

He turns to Keith, but the other boy is hesitating, which isn't something Keith does. "This is too easy."

Lance darts his eyes between Keith and the door. What else are they supposed to do; not pass through and get the very thing they came here for?

Keith's hand squeezes his almost painfully, grounding him. Keith doesn't second-guess himself often.

"Lance… Draxis sent you here for a reason. He sent you here because he _knew_ you wouldn't say no." It isn't a question. "Is that… Do you honestly believe that's the only reason?"

This ill-timed wariness is important, Lance knows, but he doesn't know how to answer the question. Regardless of motives and reasons, they're _here now_ , and they can fix everything by going through that door. What good could come from turning away now and returning empty-handed?

Lance needs this. Wants this. There is no other way. Surely Keith can see that.

He _has_ to see that.

So he summons his strength and _pulls_ Keith to the panel, forcing his hand to the screen and feeling his heart race as it lights up under the touch.

An innocent planet needs them and he isn't going to throw away the window of opportunity opened to him. And Keith has no room to talk, always jumping into fights and running around like a risk personified.

The door hisses.

" _Lance,"_ Keith seethes through his teeth, even as the doors slowly rumble apart. Lance squeezes through the opening as soon as it's big enough for him to do so, dragging an angry Keith just behind him.

The purple glow across the room is beautiful. There, splayed out on a flat stone table like a nest, are the rest of the Plexia Crystals.

There is no hesitation. Lance runs to them immediately, and Keith follows even as their hands disconnect. The shine of the crystals throb like a beating heart much steadier than his own, wanting to be rescued, to be returned home. Lance dumps his bag onto the tabletop as soon as he's able, rocks and bottle and all, and reaches out to touch the real thing. Again he swears, as his skin touches the surface, that they're alive.

He only sees the bottle slowly roll towards the edge of the table just in time to see it, as though in slow motion, fall to the floor.

 _Please don't be loud please don't be loud please don't be loud-_

It shatters.

Lance can practically feel Keith's heated glare on his back.

He holds his breath, waiting for the worst, hoping for the best.

Nothing happens.

The breath he is holding releases. He even turns around to give Keith a grin and a thumbs up because they _did it._

And then the doors begin to close, much, much faster than it had opened, and the thumbs up turns upside down when the alarm blares to life.

"We need to go, _now_."

Lance agrees wholeheartedly, securing the bag tightly and joining Keith in sprinting to the door but they're not fast enough. The doors seal shut, trapping them inside before they can reach it.

Keith skids to a stop and slams his hand onto the panel, but the screen flashes a bunch of red scribbles and the alarm continues to scream. The expression on Keith's face darkens. "Get back," he says, and a moment later Lance finds himself shielding his face from shattered glass as Keith smashes his elbow down onto the panel. Sparks fly, even while Keith jams his entire forearm into the exposed innards and pulls out a fistful of wires.

The lights flicker.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the doors begin to split.

By now their presence is obvious. They'll have to move quick through the tunnels.

Over the rumble of giant stone doors, he can also hear a faint but high-pitched, mechanical whine.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out there are weapons pointed at them.

Keith crashes into him so hard and so fast, Lance forgets how to breathe. He skids across the floor, rolling onto his hands and knees just in time to see a purple light shimmer through the air like a tiny comet, straight into Keith's chest.

It latches to him. Keith makes a strangled, confused noise.

And then the device comes alive, beautiful like sparklers on hot summer nights back home. But Keith just took a shot that was meant for _him_ and there's nothing beautiful about it at all.

He is so hyper-focused on Keith's writhing body that he isn't ready for the piercing pain that erupts in his lower stomach. A similar contraption cinches into his skin through the fabric, sharp little hooks ripping through muscle and holding firm before lighting him up from the inside.

He pulls at it desperately, feeling the current travel up his arms and spreading. The world tips, body useless and prone now, only moving in small involuntary spasms.

Then the fire returns, a second wave of impossible heat, throwing his entire being into uncontrollable thrashing. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith suffering the same fate, no longer screaming.

It's not going to stop, he realizes. Not until he passes out like Keith. It makes him welcome the foggy blackness creeping into his vision like a heavy quilt.

Before he succumbs, he jerks an arm towards Keith, not knowing what good will come from it but knowing he has to try.

He is not at all surprised when he fails.

XXX

The moment he wakes, Keith knows something is wrong.

He's on the ground. It's cold and hard and uncomfortable. When he peels his eyes open he can see he's been stripped down and changed into something else that is tattered and basically useless against the chill in the air. The bloodstains are too old to be his.

He drags himself into sitting, hearing the rattling of metal. Feels the weight on his right wrist.

A metal cuff is snugly wrapped around said wrist, latched to the wall by a short length of chain. Across the way, Lance is dressed in the same prison rags as himself, linked to the wall by his left wrist - of course it would be the left. He's on on his side and facing the wall, but Keith can see him breathing from here so there's that.

Though doubtful, Keith attempts to pull at his restraint and stretch his free arm as far as he can towards Lance, finding that there is still a fair distance between them. If Lance does the same, even with his long limbs, Keith doubts their fingertips will even touch. There'd be maybe a good six inches between them at best.

He huffs. How cruel.

He redirects focus to his surroundings. Three walls of stone, one of thick bars with spaces too small for even Pidge to try to squeeze through. It's dark and quiet. Lance's bag is nowhere to be seen. With dread he realizes his blade is gone too, but Lance won't be wanting to leave without those crystals and Keith is not going to leave without his knife.

With a soft moan, he rubs at his chest to soothe the phantom pains from earlier. Whatever that thing was - a taser of sorts, his mind supplies - it had _hurt_. It was a debilitating pain that left him feeling…

"...what?"

He freezes, fingers brushing up against something foreign.

It's… still there?

No. _No._

But the little metal apparatus responsible for those crippling shocks is still lodged into his chest like some sort of metallic leech. Keith has no doubt that the thing is still live, just waiting to torture him to keep him compliant. Surely it'll be the same for Lance.

A few deep, controlled breaths keep him calm. He has to get it out.

He holds fast to it, fingers cramping with the grip. The guttural sound that tears out of his throat as he rips it free doesn't even sound like him and he shoves his mouth against his bicep to stifle it.

The little gadget clatters to the stone floor, coated with his blood. The new tear weeps red, staining the already dirty uniform. Keith bunches up the front of his shirt and presses it to the wound. It hurts, but it shouldn't be fatal.

He looks to Lance, who, even after all that racket, remains unmoving.

His screams did, however, attract the attention of someone else.

"I see one of you is awake."

He's _big_ , sprouting a smug grin and trademark, yellow stained eyes.

Keith doesn't flinch. "And?"

The Galran doesn't flinch either as he invites himself into the cell.

Easily Keith is half the size of him, but still he stands in defiance. The disadvantage doesn't scare him. He'll fight one handed if he has to.

The thought is lost to him when a sharp pain erupts through him bodily. He only has the sense to realize the sensation stems from his chained wrist, which he claws at violently. What the quiznak is this!?

Not shocks, not like before. This is a different pain, something much more invasive and corporal.

He wobbles to his knees and then to his rump, slouching against the wall to keep from slumping over completely.

Injections. Injections through the manacle. No way to avoid or fight it. Its dirty and cheap and just about everything Keith expects from the Galra.

His lids go heavy, head bobbing forward.

No.

Fight it.

 _Fight it_.

"Just let it happen. Don't worry; you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other."

Being kept alive. Not poison, then.

"My name is Anthos. And you are mine."

Keith's tongue is heavy. Anthos. What a shitty name. He likes Asshole much better.

"As... Assssss…"

Fuck.

Anthos unchains him. Normally it would be a reckless move, but Keith understands fully just how helpless he is now. Even moreso when he's plucked off the ground and slung over Anthos' shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

When Anthos starts to carry him out, the panic sets in. He flexes his fingers and toes, willing them to do what he says, but they're numb and locked up, and Keith can only watch as Lance's prone form shrinks further and further away until Anthos turns a corner and Lance is lost from his sight entirely.

Left to wake up scared and alone.

"Noo," he moans miserably. They're supposed to _stay together._

Keith is acutely aware of a bony shoulder digging painfully into his ribs and then a sudden jolt to the system as he's thrown down on something flat and hard. It feels like a stone slab, but Keith doesn't get much time to feel out his new surroundings before he's pushed flat against it and strapped down. Pinned at the wrists and ankles, over his sternum, hips and even his neck.

It happens in an instant because Keith's body refuses to fight back.

An oversized claw grasps at his hair, wrenching his head to the side as much as the neck strap will allow.

"I was wondering when you were gonna show up." the voice is smooth and at ease. The hand in his hair tightens. Anthos hums in delight. "A big old bag of crystals and _two_ Paladins of Voltron on a silver platter. Not a bad day. Just one thing."

Rank breath washes over Keith's face, hot and invasive.

"How do they _work?"_

"What?" Keith can feel his mobility coming back, just in time to be interrogated. Joy.

"The crystals. The ones you were trying to steal from us-"

"You stole them first," Keith bites back, unable to help himself. "They don't belong to you."

"Have you never heard of _finders keepers_? They are mine, just like you are mine. Just like your friend is mine." The hand finally slips free of his locks to reach for something else. It catches the light, a glint Keith knows all too well. "Just like this blade is mine."

Keith's eyes narrow. "That's _mine."_

The knife's tip gently nudges his shirt up just enough to expose the flesh of his abdomen. The sharp edge of his own blade drags along the skin, rimming around his navel. He waits for the inevitable line of questioning punctuated with the threat of bodily hard from his own weapon. Instead, the knife pushes deeper, unprompted, puncturing flesh with a wet squelch.

He breathes through his teeth, eyes locked with Anthos' and glaring. He has no other way to show his defiance.

"I'll admit, I was hoping for a better reaction than that. I like it when they're _loud_."

The knife, still invading his stomach, twists ever so slightly.

Against every intention, Keith cries out.

"That's more like it."

Keith cuts off his own scream by chomping down on his lip until he tastes blood.

Anthos' chuckle is so dark it practically _vibrates_ through him. "You are not a tight-lipped Decibonian; you are a Paladin, and a Paladin's job is to protect. So you tell me," he leans in close. Keith can feel the flat, blood-smeared blade press against his cheek now. "What matters more to you; keeping us from using the crystals? Or keeping that pathetic planet's people from harm?"

A deep rage burns within him. It's a misleading threat. Harm will come to Decibon either way.

Wary of his movements, Keith lies through his teeth. "You don't scare me."

The blade, which he expects to bite into his cheek or worse, instead clatters carelessly to the floor. His heart aches to retrieve it.

"You're _lying_."

Keith twists his head to the side to redirect his glare to the wall. He focuses on the cracks and crevasses, anything to distract him from the pain in his stomach and still somehow pulsing in his chest.

"Did I hurt your feelings? I heard humans are sensitive creatures but I assumed a Paladin would be an exception to the norm. But you are just like the rest," A strong holds his and chin forces his head back into position. "Sensitive and easy to break. But if you will not talk, you will scream."

Keith doesn't take the bait.

"Unless you want to talk?"

Instead of a response, Keith lathers up as much saliva as he can, summons Lance's perfect aim and launches it into Anthos' face. The frothy, pink-stained was of spit lands directly in Anthos' left eye.

Keith knows a mistake before he makes one but it has never stopped him before and it doesn't take away the satisfaction.

The reaction, however, is not one Keith expects nor likes.

Anthos wipes at his face with a massive hand and reveals a wicked grin.

And then leaves the room.

For a brief, long stretched dobash, Keith just breathes. Its loud to his ears, echoing and almost deafening in the otherwise silent chamber. He misses Lance's chatterbox ways when he's nervous and wonders if he'll ever hear it again.

When Anthos returns, Keith feels a dangerous heat floating over his knife wound.

"Can't have you bleeding out," comes the simple explanation, mere ticks before a white hot fire kisses the tear in his stomach. The promise of pain does not prepare him enough and Keith tries to buck instinctively against his restraints, all the while holding back his cries because he won't give Anthos that kind of cheap pleasure.

Yet Anthos holds the burning rod there longer than he needs to, waiting, _longing_ for an audible reaction. Keith holds his breath. Holds his tongue.

"Defiance will get you nowhere," Anthos explains, pulling the heat away. Keith sucks in a gasp and pushes the air out, willing his body to endure. "It only makes you more fun to break. But for now..." There's an intense grip around his arm, and it's hard to tell if Anthos is rearing up to harm him more or just choosing to grant him a momentary reprieve.

Escape comes in the form of an injection in his arm, one that he is helpless to prevent. He does lift his head to watch the needle go in as soon as he feels the prick, to which Anthos laughs, entertained to have at least elicited a reaction out of him, even if it's a silent one.

The drugs hit him fast. Keith can feel his entire body being pulled away from his control just like before. He feels his restraints go slack. A hand encircle his ankle to lift him, lower him, _drag him_. He cannot fight it, cannot command his body to move.

He mumbles into the stone floor he's dragged along, not sure what he's trying to say.

He wonders how Lance will react to him, to seeing him like this. He wonders how creased his face will get. How grand the panicked gestures will be.

In a different scenario, Keith might actually find some humor in the thought.

Metal rattles. Cell doors and chains. A familiar coldness with an additional twinge of heat in his stomach that is probably a scar now. Cauterized, Keith acknowledges bleakly, to be kept alive for more pain later on.

He's dragged into place and secured to the wall by the single manacle. He lies there, not yet able to find the strength to roll over and face Lance, to assure the other boy that he is okay. In his mind he can already picture blue eyes stricken with grief and guilt, as Lance does, and Keith wants nothing more in that moment than to call him an idiot for taking any iota of blame.

A few solid dobashes pass by before his fingers twitch, tingling with numbness. He experiments with it, finding that he is able to move them on command. Mouth too, he realizes.

"L...Laaaann… I'm… m''okay…"

Damn it.

Lance needs him. Lance needs to know he's alright.

With a diluted groan, Keith finds the grit to roll onto this back, where his head lolls to the side towards Lance's side of the cell.

He chokes, chest seizing.

Lance is nowhere in sight.


End file.
